Ghosts
by EmDiSea
Summary: COMPLETE! A dangerous artifact. A friend in need. A lover returned. After a raid goes horribly wrong, Lara must battle the ghosts of her past and the ghosts that long to dominate her future.
1. Prologue

**1682 A.D., Off the coast of the Azores archipelago**

The sun-drenched sails of the _caravela_ _Conceição _tugged earnestly at the mast. It was as if they had caught the sailors' anxiety to return home after a protracted stay in the New World. The helmsman made routine checks on his bearing to make sure he was cutting the quickest route home.

The ship's captain stood to his left mapping the horizon with a sextant. "We'll reach the _Açores _by tomorrow." The captain's voice was gravelly but reassuring.

"_Olhe, Capitão!_" one of the sailors called from the ship's bow. A string of dark clouds rode the sky ahead. The helmsman could feel the air dampening. In minutes the storm was upon them.

"_Mãe de Deus!_ What kind of storm is this?" the captain growled. The helmsman crossed himself and spun the wheel to port. The captain stopped him. "We'll ride this one out."

Strong winds began to lash at the sails that had been eagerly outstretched only moments before. The troughs in between the waves became deeper. Thick rain battered the ship. The bow pushed up a mountainous wave and through the white spray at its top only to find itself facing the bottom of another, larger wave. The helmsman saw that the _caravela_ would not make the climb and made a last ditch turn to port. The wave struck the ship full on the starboard side and rolled it like a child's toy. As if it were the hand of God, a third wave punched the capsized ship, plunging it under the heaving waters.

* * *

Lara Croft looked over the side of the fishing boat as if she expected to see the _Conceição_ in the depths below. In the back of her mind Lara knew the ship was in reality resting on a sea ridge two hundred meters beneath the surface, but the sheer wonder forced her to look anyway. The wreck had become the watery grave for all but the helmsman, Joaquim Alonso. He had survived long enough to be rescued by another merchant vessel. While on the island of São Miguel in the Azorean archipelago Alonso had recounted the episode to a priest. It had taken days of searching in chapels all over the island but Lara now held in her hands the transcription that priest had made.

"God was in that storm," Alonso had said.

_Amazing._ Lara slid the parchment back into its watertight bag and placed it gingerly in her worn backpack lying on the deck.

"So are we going to find this thing or not?" Lara looked up to see her assistant, Paul Murdock, standing over her. His arms were folded across his chest and his round red face was twisted in a half grin. Paul was in his forties, pudgy, slightly balding and he carried about him a state of perpetual cheer that lightened even the direst of circumstances.

"Just waiting for you," Lara smiled back. She stood and stretched her arms heavenward, taking her last chance to soak up the sun. "Are you positive that contraption is reliable?" Lara pointed to a robotic heap of yellow and gray plastic caught in the ship's nets.

"We've been over this Lara. It's reliable enough. More importantly, it's cheaper than renting a mini-sub."

Lara nodded and climbed through the nets to where her "dive suit" lay. She hoped that the suit had not caught the nets' fish odor. With Paul's help Lara wriggled into the bottom half and then waited while Paul dragged the top half within reach of her arms. Slowly Lara half pulled, half pushed herself into the top piece. There was a faint hiss as Paul sealed the suit and pressurized it.

The boat's captain, a withered and weather-beaten old Portuguese, appeared from the wheelhouse and switched on the net winch. From within the cupola of her dive suit Lara saw the nets move upward and then felt them lift her off the deck. Paul and the captain swung her out over the water and then let out the nets. The feeling of falling with no way to arrest herself caused an involuntary lump to rise in Lara's throat. Then she was surrounded by water.

As soon as the nets receded Lara twisted the joystick in her right hand sideways. The suit responded with a low rumble as exhaust jets rolled Lara off her back. Lara pivoted the forward thrust stick and the suit lurched down. As the depth gauge rose, the darkness surrounding her thickened. The small luminescent gauge at the bottom of the suit's copula showed two hours of oxygen remaining.

Ten minutes passed and the _Conceição_ came into view. In the darkness Lara could only make out the outline of the hull and mast. Lara clicked on the suit's external search light. Some things never cease to amaze.

Although it was lying on its side the ship appeared to be intact; its sails still fluttered slightly in the underwater currents. A host of coral and marine life had made its home on the hull and deck. Lara guided herself to the opening just forward of the mast and entered careful not to injure her suit; at two hundred meters depth the slightest puncture could sink her. With gentle taps on the suit's control sticks Lara managed to navigate the first lower deck. Something fluttered at the head of the ladder space that led to the ship's hold. Closer inspection revealed the remains of a sailor's uniform and skeleton. With a suppressed shudder Lara nudged the obstacle from her path and twisted the control sticks until she was looking down into the hold.

The whir of the exhaust jets mingled with the hum of the suit's batteries as Lara descended into the hold. The contents had been thrown everywhere; crates, barrels and waterlogged sacks lay in heaps against the hull's timbers. _Where are you?_ Lara pressed her right thumb against the control pad that manipulated the suit's searchlight. It cast odd shadows onto the hull which seemed to obscure more than clarify. Lara sighed; it was going to be a long search.

Then something in the bow caught her eye. It was a dark rectangle chained to the rafters. Lara trained the light on it. The rectangle gained three dimensions upon illumination and Lara smiled. _Finally a spot of luck._ Lara made the move towards it and the rectangle was obscured again. Slowly the area immediately surrounding the rectangle darkened. Lara checked her searchlight. It was working but the darkness expanded, soon she could see nothing but blackness outside. She looked at the gauges within the suit and they slowly ceased to glow. _Power failure?_ No. Lara could still hear the hum of the batteries.

Suddenly the hum was replaced by a pounding in Lara's ears. Her whole body began to shudder and her head felt like it was splitting in two. The air was sucked out of her lungs. Lara clawed desperately at the controls and whipped the suit into a one hundred and eighty degree turn. Everything was still pitch black. Lara rammed the thrusters forward and after a second felt the cupola hit against the hull. The pounding did not lessen. Lara felt that her eardrums would burst.

Directions had lost meaning but Lara had the general idea of her exit. She moved left and felt a touch of relief as the suit did not bang into any obstacle. It was short-lived. Something resisted her forward progression but it was not wood. _Sails? No. Hammocks for the crew. _ That meant she was in the first deck again. Struggling to keep a straight course Lara once more moved to the bow of the ship where the surface hatch was located. Her body began to grow cold and fits of trembling took her. The mounting pressure in Lara's head caused a blood vessel to burst in her nose. She panicked and pushed upward.

_Bad move._

The suit collided with the wooden beams overhead. Lara felt something frigid on her back. It passed along her wetsuit down to her legs. _Water. Oh no. _Lara jammed the controls forward and the suit responded but sluggishly. The precious seconds passed by until Lara estimated she was at the hatch. She yanked on the right control stick and like a wounded fish the dive suit slowly eased out of the ship.

Water was beginning to pool in the legs of the dive suit. Lara could barely feel her feet. After fifty meters of ascent Lara was immersed up to her waist. The suit stopped climbing and began to drop slowly. Through the searing pain Lara fought to remember Paul's instructions. _"Should you ever need to bail out,"_ Paul had said. _"And I pray this does not have to happen—there is an emergency lever at the waist joint. Pull it from your right hip to left. That will release the bottom half."_

Lara yanked her arm out of the right sleeve and plunged it into the icy water which now reached mid-chest. Her hand grasped at the waist joint searching for the lever that held her escape. A small knob came in contact with her fingers but it was impossibly small to manipulate with numb fingers. Lara gritted her teeth and fixed her hand in a white-knuckled grip on the lever and pushed. Nothing happened. The water was lapping at her neckline now. Lara gasped and pushed again. The lever budged.

* * *

The sun was dipping into the Atlantic as Lara broke the surface. The pounding in her ears had subsided but a vicious headache had taken its place. Tremors that were brought on by more than the cold water coursed through her body. The only warmth she could feel came from the small trickle of blood from her nose. The pain had caused spots to appear in her vision but at least her eyes were no longer darkened. Lara could make out the silhouette of the fishing boat twenty meters away. Slowly Lara eased herself towards it.

As Lara approached the boat she sensed something was wrong. She could see the outlines of Paul and the old Portuguese fisherman but there were other shapes as well. Strange shapes. One of them called out.

"Where is it Miss Croft?" The voice was thinly accented. Lara could not quite place it. There was an icy resonance in that voice that crept up her spine slowly and painfully.

"What?" She tried to sound in control but all she could muster was a whisper.

"The item you just recovered belongs to us. Where is it?"

"I didn't recover anything." The setting sun backlit the man speaking so that Lara could not make out his face but she could plainly see that he was carrying a handgun. There were three other men with him. They had guns trained on Paul and the fisherman.

"Then go back down there until you do."

"I can't," Lara protested weakly. Shock was beginning to set in.

"She can't, she's gone and lost my dive suit. It's—." The voice was Paul's. One of the shadows placed a fist in Paul's gut, doubling him over.

The accented voice spoke again. "Then we will keep your friend until you can recover the item. I suggest you work quickly." Two of the men dragged Paul to the far side of the boat. The leader whispered something to the fourth gunman and turned to follow the others. The gunman raised his pistol to the back of the fisherman's head and fired once. Lara cried out and the gunman turned towards her. He tossed something at her and Lara winced, fearing what the impact might be. A life preserver landed in the water in front of her. The gunman turned and left. As Lara rested her trembling body on the orange buoy her ears caught the sound of speedboat engines rumbling to life. The sound intensified and then faded away.

* * *

Lara Croft shuffled into her study, the swishing of her silk pajamas the only sound that disturbed the night air at Croft Manor. It had been over a week since her failed raid of the _Conceição. _She hadn't slept more than two hours straight since then.

Her laptop's screen winked on casting long shadows across the dark oak paneling of the study. A bookshelf standing against the far wall housing scores of large hardbound books with titles such as _The Maya_, _Anthropology of the Sudan_, and _Baxter's Guide to Egyptology _was barely illumined. Through the windows a lazy wind could be seen passing through the graceful, moonlit Lombardy poplars.

The sound of the wind was punctuated by light clicks and clacks as Lara placed heavy fingers on the keys. She paused while a search engine ran across cyberspace procuring the desired information. The laptop's fan whirred, picked up speed, and then came to a rest.

"Dr. Conrad Montgomery," she muttered to no one in particular while rubbing fingertips over puffy eyes.

* * *

**The next day...**

"You're different than I'd imagined," the therapist said to the woman seated across from him.

"I look like hell," Lara offered. Her eyes were bloodshot and sat above unsightly dark circles. Her face was pale and waxen. Both face and body were equally rigid with the kind of tension that bordered on collapse.

A slight smile. "I wouldn't go that far. How long have you been experiencing these symptoms Miss Croft?"

Lara plucked absently at a loose string poking out of the deep-green, tweed upholstery of the armchair she was sitting in. She reflected that this office, so well appointed with its comfortable chairs, crème-colored wallpaper and soft lighting, was probably designed to put people to sleep. Unfortunately, it wasn't working.

"Miss Croft?"

"Twelve days." Lara finally replied.

"I see." Dr. Montgomery made a note on a legal pad resting on his tan slacks. "What is the cause do you think?"


	2. Hesitation

Dr. Montgomery tapped his black ballpoint pen against his chin. His mien was detached but his mind was very much engaged. "And you've told the police about all this?"

"Yes." Lara sighed. "Interpol has opened an investigation. So far they've turned up nothing."

"I see." Montgomery shifted his weight in the armchair. "Well, insomnia can occur following periods of intense physical duress and shock. You've experienced both obviously."

"Obviously." Lara muttered.

"I'm going to write you a prescription for a sleeping pill—."

Lara shook her head. "I don't want pills. I want you to hypnotize me."

Montgomery paused before responding. "In the hope of finding what?"

"Shock is not the problem. I can't sleep because every time I close my eyes I see darkness. I want you to find the source of that darkness."

"You mean what you saw during your dive?"

Lara nodded wearily. "I feel like it…takes me over. I can't breathe. My head begins to hurt."

"Well Miss Croft, regression therapy helps things the mind has forgotten or repressed to surface. What you've described…it sounds like you want an exorcist not a hypnotist."

Lara let out a protracted sigh and stared up at the ceiling.

* * *

Afternoon sunlight filtered by the tall Lombardy poplars trickled through the large kitchen windows and played on the black and white tile floor. A sturdy table with four stout chairs stood against the adjacent wall. Opposite them were a stove and a refrigerator. The air was heavy with the aroma of green onion and candied almonds. Through the corridor that led from the kitchen to the main hall the sound of footsteps was heard.

Lara entered the kitchen and sat down heavily in one of the chairs facing the windows. She envied the sunlight. _It doesn't have problems sleeping. _From the pantry door opposite the large windows emerged Lara's butler, Winston, dressed in his typical black suit. He raised his snow-white eyebrows inquiringly and Lara simply shook her head. Momentary hope disappeared from his creased face and he turned to busy himself with the kettle on the stove. "The post came while you were out," Winston said quietly.

The mail was mostly unattractive. Bills and solicitations as well as one check from her publisher containing royalties from her recently released book _Conquests of the Sixteenth Century_. Two letters, however, succeeded in piquing her interest. One was from Dr. Thomas Woodson, her friend and mentor at the British Museum. The other had no return address but was postmarked Washington D.C. A sharp whistle sounded from the stove as Lara opened the first letter. Winston cleared the table and set down cups and saucers.

"What does Thomas have to say?" Winston inquired as he poured the tea for Lara and then himself.

"James is back from Brazil. He wants to see me about a development with the artifact. He doesn't say what it is though."

"Probably because he wants to _see_ you." The corners of Winston's mouth turned upward ever so slightly.

"Probably." Lara glanced at him askance and smiled. Winston sat opposite her and sipped thoughtfully at his tea while perusing _The Daily Telegraph_. Lara reread the letter while sipping her own tea. It had been almost a year since she had seen James Woodson. This was only partly due to time constraints. During her research in Brazil James had been as close as Peru yet something had always come up. Or she had made something come up.

"This Hunter fellow sure knows how to say what he's saying." Winston had found an opportune time to interrupt the thought process.

"Hmm?"

"Daniel Hunter. He writes for the _Telegraph_. He's a smart one. I enjoy reading his stuff."

"Ah, I see," she said without seeing at all. Her mind was mulling over things like sleep deprivation and James Woodson. Lara washed down a biscuit with the last of her tea. "Well I'm done." Lara stood and left the kitchen. Winston said nothing but she could tell he was watching her. _Just like a father._ Upstairs in her study the same sunlight was shifting over the bookcases. Lara sat at the desk and reluctantly opened the top right drawer. From it she produced a large manila envelope. The pictures that tumbled out were not new. She'd looked at them every day since the day the Interpol lab had deemed them "untraceable." The man in them was pleading with her: just give them what they want.

"It's not that easy." Lara whispered as she slid her index finger along the edge of the photo. She would go see James tomorrow, the past notwithstanding. Lara slid the photographs back into the envelope and locked them in the desk drawer. As she sat up a block of white on the black desk blotter caught her eye. It was the second letter. She had carried it upstairs almost without thinking. Lara pulled a letter opener from the top left drawer.

* * *

The park was mostly deserted. The sun had set hours before and early autumn clouds began to obscure the moon. A jogger passed over the green and stopped to rest at a bench situated against the hedge. A shadow slid out of the darkness behind the bench.

"Can you spare some change?" the shadow asked.

"I'm sorry. I left my wallet at home," the jogger replied. The shadow rounded the bench and sat down next to the jogger.

"What is it Ryan?"

"It's been confirmed. She found it," said Ryan. He bent down and retied his shoes.

"Does Carlos know?"

"He was there. But she didn't have it."

"We'll need to contact her."

"I've sent a letter requesting a meeting."

"Have you heard back?"

"Not yet."

The shadow was silent for a moment. "I'll be here in London for the next twelve days. Keep me updated."

Ryan nodded and left the bench, jogging back the way he had come.

* * *

The immense glass ceiling in the British Museum's entry hall was splotched with fat drops of rain. The vast circular hall was mostly empty save a few tourists and scholarly-looking people. One could not help but feel little in such a building. Lara brushed a few drops from the collar of her white blouse while walking slowly to the reading room. She was wearing a dark navy dress suit she normally reserved for lecturing. Her chestnut hair was tied tightly in a long braid which swished back and forth across her back as she walked.

The reading room was more occupied. Amid the smattering of tourists were two men in suits standing at the far wall: Thomas and James Woodson. Thomas was a tall man, almost six foot four inches. Despite his years he still kept his thin frame ramrod straight, a holdover from his years as a Royal Marine in the Great War. His head was crowned by a laurel wreath of gray-white stubble. His face was a paradox. The intelligent silver-blue eyes, the mouth and even the creases of his face could convey anger one moment and warmth the next. Lara had seen it happen during exams while his student.

James was both like and unlike his uncle. His hair was a thick, sandy blond that remained disheveled even after combing. Lara had come to realize he preferred it that way. While he had a mind that rivaled his uncle's his carriage did not exude the same look of intelligence. At times he would show up to lectures in just khakis and a polo shirt. Even now Lara could tell his shirt was not pressed and his shoes were not shined. Once again, he preferred it that way. He shared the same silver-blue eyes and though he worked hard to change it, he shared the same thin frame. Some would say he looked delicate but Lara knew better. She had been wont to see him with a week's growth of beard, caked in sand, down on all fours scraping around a dig in Tunis or Alexandria or Tulum or wherever work took them.

"Lara!" Thomas Woodson called out disturbing another elderly man hunched over a book.

"Tommy," Lara smiled and made her way to the pair. "How are you?"

"The question is," Thomas assumed his serious face. "How are _you_?"

"I'm fine." Lara tried not to sound weary.

"Hello Lara. You look tired." It was James. His voice was subdued, betraying nothing.

"Hello James." She whispered and a long pause ensued.

It was the elder Dr. Woodson who shattered the silence. "Shall we?" he motioned towards the corridor that led back to the private area of the museum. As the trio walked, the uncomfortable silence resumed. No one bothered to glance at the fine works of art hanging on either side of the corridor. Once in the privacy of Thomas' office they spoke again.

"I'm so sorry to hear about Paul," James began. "That's why…partly why I came back."

"James managed to identify the origin of the artifact," Thomas interrupted. That was one thing Lara admired about Thomas, he just came out and said it. It was a skill she had learned from him.

"When you asked me to pick up where you'd left off you'll remember we knew it started in Porto Seguro and then went on toward Lisbon, but we didn't know how it showed up in Porto Seguro in the first place."

"Yes I remember." Lara folded her arms across her chest.

"A group of witchdoctors put it there."

"Witchdoctors?"

"Yes. They started out as slaves shipped from Africa to Brazil by the Portuguese. They practiced a religion called _macumba_. Supposedly they summoned seven demons from the other world and captured them in an idol. They placed the idol in Porto Seguro to torment the Portuguese slave traders."

Lara's rational mind was filtering out the facts from the myth. Demons and such were fantasy. But in her heart she felt that horribly familiar darkness expand. "And the Portuguese didn't like that."

"Someone exposed the plot. The Portuguese hunted and killed the witchdoctors. They abolished the practice of _macumba_ and confiscated all of their articles of worship to be burned."

"But they sent the idol back to Lisbon." Lara muttered. The pieces were beginning to come together.

"They fell for the ruse," Thomas interjected. "In their minds sending the idol back to the king was a good political move. It showed that the colonies were producing something."

Lara lowered her head, turning the facts over slowly in her mind. It was a skill she had honed while at Oxford. All good research came to naught unless it was carefully assembled. Bits of information were just trivia to Lara. Knowledge had to be assembled. _I'm missing a piece._ "This still leaves two very important questions unanswered, why do Paul's kidnappers want it so badly? And why do they need me to get it for them?"

"Whatever the reason," said James. "You need to recover it."

Lara began to pace back and forth, her braid keeping time. "Pulling up to the harbor in São Miguel with a dead Portuguese fisherman didn't really help my reputation in the Azores. If I had the capability I would recover this one but I'm not in any position to—."

"Make some calls—." James interrupted.

"I have," Lara protested. Her voice rose slightly. _Just leave it be James, please._

"There's something else. Isn't there?" Thomas said quietly from the corner of the office where he had seated himself next to the aquarium. Lara turned to him and then stared at the floor. She felt like a little girl again. A little girl caught misbehaving. But she hadn't misbehaved, she was just afraid.

"The only survivor of the wreck said God was in the storm that sunk it. Maybe this artifact is best left where it lies."

"And what about Paul?" James queried.

"Someone from American Intelligence has contacted me about that. I'm meeting him tonight."

"Lara you've never walked away from a pursuit like this. What's with you?"

"Things change James. I've changed." If the younger Dr. Woodson realized she was talking about more than her professional life he didn't show it. "I should go."

"I just want to help, that's all."

Lara nodded her assent and left the office.


	3. Memories

The old grandfather clock in the entry of the mansion tolled nine times. The grounds outside lay damp under the coat of rain that had dispelled only a few hours before. Shards of cloud obscured the pale moonlight every now and again. Lara sat in the living room just off the dining room. She had traded in her dress suit for a red turtle neck sweater and a pair of jeans. Winston had kindled a fire in the fireplace before retiring to his room. Lara didn't like the flames, but the autumn rain had left the nineteenth century-era mansion unsuitably cold.

The doorbell chimed. "I'll answer it." Lara called as she entered the entry. She knew Winston would be anxious to open the door otherwise. An unwelcome gust of cold, damp air greeted Lara as she opened the large wooden door. Standing on the steps was a man. He was wearing a black raincoat underneath which Lara could see a dark gray suit.

"My name is Ryan Caruso. You are Lara Croft?"

"Come in please." Lara motioned for him to enter and hastily closed the door behind him. She took his raincoat and hung it on a nearby stand. Caruso followed her into the living room and sat on the couch opposite her. In the firelight Lara sized up her new acquaintance. His six-foot frame was lean and athletic. His clean-shaven face was lightly tanned and sat under a straight brown crew cut. It was not a gorgeous face but a handsome one. He had an air of order and discipline mixed with something else Lara could not place. What most caught her attention were his steel blue eyes. They were cold and calm. Unnaturally so. Submerged there was a touch of...sadness. She felt oddly drawn in by them. Under different circumstances she would like to find out what was behind those eyes. But now was not the time for making friends, now was the time for answers.

"Thank you for responding so promptly to my letter," Caruso began. His voice was calm and pleasant. Yet pleasantries were unbecoming of him, Lara decided.

"You mentioned something about Paul Murdock," she cut to the chase.

"Yes. We've been following the group that abducted him for some time now. We believe we now have what we need to take them down."

"And who is 'we'?"

"I represent a branch of the American Intelligence community that investigates abnormal behavior in terrorists."

"'Abnormal' being what?"

"Fascination with the Occult."

"So what is it that you need to take them down?" Lara's tone was all business.

"Bait. Thanks to you we now know what they're after. We can use that to lure them out."

"I'm assuming the 'bait' is that little statuette stuck at the bottom of the ocean." Lara felt a little knot tighten at the pit of her stomach.

"It is."

"I hate to disappoint you Mr. Caruso," Lara said as she stood. "But I cannot get that 'bait' for you."

Caruso remained seated. "You don't have to. I've made some preparations. I just need you to show me where to look."

Lara stood silent for a moment and then sat down again. "What preparations have you made?"

"A boat and a mini-sub. I just need you to act as navigator."

"And you think those men will take the bait?" A flash of hope cut through Lara's otherwise businesslike manner. She wanted this man to confirm that hope. To tell her it was not in vain. It was a sensation she was not familiar with.

"I'm counting on it." The use of the personal pronoun seemed out of place to Lara. She eyed Caruso for a moment. He stared back unflinchingly. He seemed forthright but Lara had learned the hard way that trusting people blindly had the bad habit of getting one's self killed. The phone in the kitchen rang. Lara was actually grateful for the distraction. Her guest was turning out to be harder to read than she had expected. She needed time to think, to assemble the facts.

"Excuse me." Lara was halfway across the dining hall when Winston's voice called from upstairs.

"It's young Dr. Woodson."

"Thank you," Lara called back. She picked up the receiver. "Hello James."

"Lara, I called to apologize. I shouldn't have been so hard on you. What you went through with Paul—."

"James…it's alright. I'm not angry. I was afraid…"

"Of what?"

Lara felt the darkness of the night increase slightly. "I'm sorry James but I have a visitor and I must attend to him."

"The American."

"Yes, that's right."

"What did he say?"

"He thinks we can get to Paul by baiting his captors with the Idol."

"So you're going after it then?" James' voice sounded expectant, like that of a five-year-old who hears about summer vacation plans.

Lara paused and looked back through the main hall to the living room where she had left Caruso. He was there waiting patiently.

"Lara?"

"Yes. I'm going back for the Idol."

"Lara let me go with you—."

"No." Lara cut him off forcefully.

"—To make up for earlier."

"James you can't make up for earlier."

"Earlier today I mean."

"I know. I just…" The stress and the darkness finally forced her to surrender. "I don't want to lose you."

"You won't."

* * *

"Mr. Fisher will be out momentarily," the secretary said in her professional tone. Ryan Caruso nodded and took a seat in a high-backed chair. _It's probably one of the antiques. I wonder how much it's worth,_ Ryan mused. He glanced around the lobby, assessing its weaknesses and strengths reflexively. The weight of his Glock 40 semi-automatic against his left side was reassuring. Minutes passed before Ryan heard the _clack-clack_ of Fisher's wingtip shoes on the white marble. Fisher was slightly less than six feet tall. All of that height was held in the most rigid, dignified stance, which made him imposing in bearing if not in stature. His face was stern and creased with lines of perpetual stress. His hair was gray and wavy and not a strand was out of place. He wore a black pinstripe suit from _Savile Row_ and a silver silk tie.

"So good to see you Mr. Smith," Fisher shook Ryan's hand avidly and ushered him back to the offices of Sotheby's of London. "Have you decided on the piece you wish to auction?"

Ryan waited until they were in Fisher's office before he replied. "She's on board Ian."

While there was no obvious reaction to the news Ryan had known Ian Fisher long enough to tell when he was greatly relieved. "Well done Ryan. When will the recovery take place?"

"It'll take three days to get to the site. From there it should be relatively simple…except she's insisted on bringing a third party."

Fisher's brow creased slightly. "Who?"

"A colleague. Dr. James Woodson."

"Will he be a problem?" Ryan sensed Ian tensing up just the same way he had sensed him being relieved. Ryan knew that now was the time for reassurance. He couldn't afford to have Ian feeling anxious, not now.

"No. If he gets in the way I'll take him out myself."

"Good. I will be in Lisbon by next week. Bring the Idol as soon as you have it. I can make all the other arrangements."

Ryan walked to the small office window and rested his forearm on the cool glass. The autumn sun darted in and out of the receding clouds. He let out a long breath and with it a bit of the stress that had been building in him for the past two weeks. "The war ends next week."

Fisher looked at him quizzically. The words that came next forced Ryan's heart into his stomach. "No, Ryan. The war begins next week."

* * *

The night was dark as charcoal. No moon. No stars. Just black. The cabin of the private jet was just the opposite: soft white tones framed by faux mahogany wood. The lights had been dimmed so the occupants could get some rest on their trans-Atlantic flight. Lara felt comfortable; she felt secure.

As her vision dimmed a tall man appeared and placed a blanket over her and pulled it up to her chin. She leaned her face against his hand and it caressed her cheek affectionately. She could smell the linen of his dress shirt and the faintest hint of expensive cologne.

"Thank you Daddy," Lara whispered.

"Sleep tight Lara. We'll soon be back home." Through the narrow slits of her heavy eyelids she saw her father sit next to her mother and wrap his arm around her shoulders. She rested her head against his chest and smiled. Everything was as it should be.

Her family was returning from a month's vacation in North America. She had marveled at the immensity of the pyramids in Teotihuacán, Mexico. She had explored the grandeur of the national parks of Canada and the United States. And just before returning home she had spent a whole day in the Smithsonian. Before leaving each site she had begged to have more time to look around. There was so much more to see! A month for an entire continent did not suffice. The trip had opened her eyes to the real breadth of the world she lived in. It kindled a desire in her to know the world.

Thinking about all she had seen and imagining all that she would see when she was older kept Lara from sleeping. She looked at her mother and father. They were so beautiful. Her father glanced at her and she pretended to shift position in her sleep to avoid letting him see that she was awake. One of the little games nine-year-olds are apt to play. She looked out the window at the black night. A light caught her eye, a tiny spark. Another followed.

Then the fire started.

She could see it engulf the wing through her window. The blackness was replaced by light. Awful flames. Voices were shouting. She was shouting. The plane was spinning. Her mother was thrown to the floor. Her father could not get to her. Neither of them could get to Lara.

And then blackness again.

But this was different. There was a shape in the blackness, even darker than black itself. It shifted position around Lara. It darted at her. Lara could feel her stomach tighten; her body tensed for the onslaught. But nothing happened. Nothing physical at least. But in that shape Lara could feel a malice and a madness. _No. Please God no._

Slowly the darkness faded.

Lara's breath came in quick staccato gasps. Reflexively she clamped a hand down on her chest as if to frighten away her fear. Her skin was cold and damp under the cotton tank top she was wearing. For a while she kept her eyes fastened shut, not wanting to face the possibility that her dream had in fact been reality. A few minutes passed and her breathing returned to normal. Her eyes shot open as she remembered where she was. The yellowish metal walls and stiff cots in the trawler boat's dormitory were a stark contrast to Lara's plush bedroom in Surrey. But this temporary disoriented state was nothing terribly new for her.

James was sitting on the cot opposite her, elbows on his knees with his left hand propping up his head. It was a relief to see him. "Lara, you were having a nightmare." His slim face was etched with concern.

Lara was about to defend herself but then remembered that James was her bunkmate and had probably seen her with her eyes screwed shut and her body shuddering with fear. And he had seen her have nightmares before, but that was long ago...

"Do you want to talk about it?" James easily assumed the role of confidant. Lara had forgotten how much she missed that. The way they used to talk. He knew her so well. _He still does, but this I can't talk about. Not with him. I'm sorry James._

She sat up in her sleeping bag and squeezed her forehead with her thumb and index finger. "I've been having trouble sleeping."

"That much is obvious. Why?"

"I don't know." A lie. Lara quickly changed the subject. "Where's Caruso?"

"At the helm. This little tug won't drive itself." James' concerned face broke ever so slightly into a smile. "He says we have another day before we reach the wreck."

The word 'wreck' sent a small shiver down her spine. Lara tried to shake the feeling of darkness in that word. It was odd really, she had never associated that word with darkness until now. "Be a dear and make up some coffee if you would."

"Sure." James turned and ducked out of the confines of the dormitory.

"Black." Lara called after him. Lara could already tell it was going to be a long day. Once he was gone she slid out of the sleeping bag and walked over to the small sink fastened to the wall near the hatch. She flicked on a bare bulb and looked at herself in the mirror. In between the cracks and chips and spiderweb pattern of rust she could make out the foreign face that was becoming all too familiar. Her eyes were sunken and hollow; devoid of the life that captivated those she came in contact with. Her normally tan features had paled and her skin had lost its healthy glow.

"I look like hell," she muttered to the reflection.

James appeared in the hatch. "I've got coffee." But he didn't offer her the mug. She looked at him and then realized why he had stopped. She was only wearing her underwear and the cotton tank top and he noticed. She caught in his stare a hungry look. A look she had noticed years ago when she became old enough to know what that hunger meant.

_We're past this James. There's no going back._ Lara retreated to the safety of her sleeping bag and crawled inside, mug in hand. She took a sip. It was _strong_. Her face twisted into a grimace.

"You said black." James smiled. This time it was a full, gorgeous smile. A nonchalant, presumptuous smile. He sat down on the cot at the foot of her sleeping bag and kept grinning that same giddy smile.

"James...things can't be..."

"Like they were. I know, I know," James nodded immediately. He stood and began to leave. "You don't ever think about those days?"

"All the time," Lara began. Her expression was demure. "That's why it's so hard."

James nodded again and disappeared through the hatch. Lara finished the coffee before leaving the safety of her sleeping bag. She donned a yellow neoprene jacket and black nylon trousers. Before venturing out into the hall she checked herself in the mirror once more. As she moved to the hatch a feeling of danger pressed itself into her consciousness. Lara had learned from her earliest days as a tomb raider to give these lingering instincts serious thought. But the feeling remained elusive.

Lara walked slowly to the duffel under her bunk and ruffled through it until her hands grasped a familiar series of nylon straps: her gun belt. She pulled one of her pistols, an H&K USP .40, from the belt and ejected the magazine. She counted the bullets and then rammed the magazine back into the grip. Slowly, methodically, Lara slid the action back and watched almost fascinated as a bullet slid into the chamber. Something moved in the hall and Lara quickly slid the pistol into the small of her back underneath the neoprene jacket.

The feeling passed and she ventured into the hall. James was waiting at the steep stairs that led up to the deck. "Is everything alright?" he asked.

"Why do you ask?"

"You look a little on edge."

"I'm a tomb raider James, that's what keeps me alive."

James leaned over her. "But we're not in a tomb, are we?" His tone was one of mock condescension.

Lara smiled weakly and pushed past him up the stairs. The sharp Atlantic wind topside forced her to zip the neoprene jacket up to her chin. When James arrived on deck he did likewise with his hooded parka. The sun had not yet peeked over the horizon but there were traces of light touching the feathery cirrus clouds high above. The ocean was rolling but calm enough for them to deploy the minisub when the time came. _If the weather holds._ Lara thought wryly, remembering Joaquim Alonso's account of the freak storm that had sunk the _Conceição. _

The pair made their way along the deck wet with spray to the wheelhouse. Lara pulled her braid from the recesses of her jacket before entering. In contrast to the broken-down appearance of the fifty-foot trawler's exterior, the wheelhouse had been transformed into a modern command center. Two wide laptops in thick kevlar cases sat astride the old ship's wheel. A small satellite receiver was pointed out the window. A third electronic device sat closed on the floor.

Ryan was at helm and it looked as though he had been all night. His shoulders sagged under the thick knit turtleneck he was wearing. But he still possessed that same air of rigid discipline she had noticed at their first meeting. He turned slightly as the door snapped shut. He gave a nod to the pair and resumed piloting.

Lara noted that his build was more muscular than she had at first supposed. The suit and overcoat had masked his broad shoulders and chest. His arms and torso stretched at the fabric of his turtleneck. The V-form of his physique gave the feeling of something solid. Lara found him at once more attractive and more dangerous. His steel blue eyes caught Lara's and she realized she'd been staring.

"We're about twenty hours away," Ryan said as he glanced at a GPS monitor on one of the laptops. "Can you take the helm? I'm going to get some shuteye." He let go of the wheel before she could even reply. Lara caught it and checked the bearing as Ryan left the wheelhouse without another sound. James leaned against the bulkhead to Lara's right.

"He seems like a nice chap," he said somewhat sarcastically.

"He's tired," Lara returned. "Life's a bugger when you're tired."

* * *

Ryan sat down heavily on his cot in the dormitory. Being sleepy was not the problem. It was the stress that wore him out. He had taken every precaution but precautions had been taken before and so much had still been lost. Worst of all, the most unpredictable variable was the woman he needed the most cooperation from.

His thoughts turned to her. How much longer did she have? He could already see it beginning in that beautiful face of hers. She was strong but she had no clue what she was up against.

He peeled off his turtleneck and trousers and slid into a sleeping bag. He lay staring at the ceiling for a long time; sleep would not come. He shut his eyes, but in that self-inflicted darkness there were only faces. Faces he did not want to see but that he could not shut out. They were seared into his mind. And now he had one more: Lara's. It was so similar...

The onset of unconsciousness took him all at once, like a wave. At first there was nothing, but sure enough shapes and shadows began to tighten up and take form. It happened so often Ryan could even predict it in his subconscious. First, the road would appear. Off to the left was Tidal Basin. Cherry blossoms hung thick over its surface. Dusk was turning the Potomac into running gold.

Beautiful.

Natalie was sitting in the seat next to him. Her long, chestnut hair rolled down onto her shoulders. She turned and smiled at him. His heart leapt a little. Even after three years of marriage she could still do that to him. He glanced down at her stomach. She was getting big; another month and she was due. That thought forced his heart into his stomach.

Then the other car would appear. It was around this time that he noticed that his own car was not moving. He had been noticing a snapshot of time, frozen in his mind. The next moments were always fast. Too fast. The other car veered out of its lane into his hitting him head on. He was thrown against the seatbelt. Instantaneously the dark figure was beside Natalie. Carlos was there. Ryan's fists clenched. He tore at the seatbelt but he could not get free. Natalie got out of the car. _No! Don't! Not her, not her!_

Then everything would slow down again. Too slow. Natalie walked toward the Potomac. Ryan screamed, he tore at his own flesh as if to rip himself out of the car. She walked forward, inexorably into the water. Everything so slow. Bit by bit she disappeared below that golden surface, that water that had been beautiful only moments before. _Come back, _he would whisper. But she could not hear him. She was below the surface.

And then she was gone.

_NO!_

Ryan bolted upright on the cot. Clutched in his extended left hand was his Glock 40, safety off. He never knew how it got there, but it always did. Like some sick practical joke tempting him to use it. _Not yet. Not till the war is over._


	4. Recovery

Lara focused hard on the compass. She had been at the helm for almost six hours now and sleep deprivation was catching up to her. The thought occurred to her more than once to turn the ship around and go back to Lisbon, or even London for that matter. Why was she killing herself to get somewhere she did not want to be?

And then those pictures of Paul would come back to haunt her. She had no doubt he was in pain. Probably even at this instant, wherever he was. And worst of all he probably was beginning to doubt if she would ever come for him.

_I'm coming Paul,_ Lara whispered.

"What?" James asked tiredly. Lara had been so focused on keeping the course she had forgotten about him.

"Can you take the helm for me?"

"Sure." James stood and Lara sank into the chair he had been occupying. "Maybe the American will come spell me off before I have to take a six hour tour of duty."

"Do I detect some bitterness?" Lara queried.

"It isn't right to just drop the workload on you. He knows you haven't been sleeping."

"_You_ didn't offer to help either," Lara said in jest.

"Ah, but I know you. I couldn't drag you from the wheel until you were ready to let go."

Lara bowed her head and smiled. There went James again, being the big brother. He'd been that way since he and his uncle had showed up on her doorstep the week after her parents' funeral.

Thomas Woodson had been a long time fried of her father's. Her father was a great patron of archeology and the two of them had collaborated on numerous projects. Thomas introduced Lara to James and told them to run along and play. Lara remembered being particularly cantankerous that day. She didn't want any children her age around. She didn't want anyone around. She wanted her mother and father.

"Do you want to play a game James?" she had asked mischievously.

"Okay."

"I'll go and hide and you come find me, alright?"

"Should I count to thirty?"

"Yes. That's good, count to thirty." Lara had rushed up to her father's study and climbed one of the bookcases. At the top she pushed open a trapdoor in the ceiling and pulled herself into the attic. She squeezed behind a large box and took a long breath to quiet her breathing. _That little boy will never find me,_ she smiled. _I didn't even use the step ladder to get up here. He'll be perplexed and he'll go away. And he won't come back. Ever._

A few minutes passed and Lara tired of the game. She flipped open the box in front of her and perused its contents. It was full of photographs. There were pictures of birthdays. Pictures of Christmas. Pictures of school plays and family outings. One picture in particular grabbed her attention. In it she and her parents were standing in front of the Lombardy poplars at the back of the grounds. It was autumn. Her father was holding Lara on his shoulders and attempting to kiss her mother at the same time.

Lara remembered that day. Mother had jokingly attempted to shy away from Father. He had persisted but Lara had fallen from his shoulders in the process and dislocated her shoulder. She had cried and Mother and Father had given plentiful kind words and kisses.

Lara put the picture down and closed her eyes. She wanted to shut out the tears. She wanted to be strong like Father. Father never cried. A tear escaped and then another. A stifled sob burst from her throat and before she could stop it she was crying. She cried long and loud. She didn't care anymore. To hell with all of it.

The trapdoor creaked open and she could hear quiet footsteps coming her way. She gulped down the sobs and passed the sleeve of her blue dress over her eyes. Even in her nine-year-old mind she knew it was foolish; she could taste the salt on her cheeks. Seconds passed and James appeared. That annoying little boy had found her.

"Go away," she had ordered. But he stood before her with his hands clasped behind his back. He looked very downcast, like he sincerely didn't want to disobey her. "I heard you crying. I'm sorry your parents died," he had said with all sincerity. Lara started crying again and James sat down beside her. He put his little arm around her quaking shoulders and whispered, "It's going to be okay."

For the first time in weeks Lara actually felt that it would be okay. She felt that someone understood her. And of all people it was this annoying little boy. Lara remembered she had asked Thomas and Winston if James could stay the night with her. Thomas had explained in soothing tones that James' parents would be missing him back in London but they would visit again next week.

They did visit next week. And the next week. And the next. When summer finally came Lara convinced James to stay at Croft Manor. He did. She had shown him every inch of the grounds. They had started their first archaeological dig together in her backyard. Winston was very displeased at first but when he saw that Lara was truly happy for the first time in months, he ceded the terrain to the youngsters.

And so it had continued for the next several years. Lara became very upset when she learned that James was going away to university at Oxford while she still had two years of school left. So she did the natural thing: she studied hard, skipped a grade and applied for Oxford a year early. It was about this time she had realized she wasn't following James for old time's sake. It was because she loved him.

It was because she loved him that she took a semester abroad with him at the University of Alexandria in Cairo. She remembered those months particularly well. One night the university had sponsored a dance in the Garden City quarter on the Nile. She and James had danced the whole night. In the background Dean Martin was playing on a set of strained speakers: _"Watch the sunrise on a tropic isle...See the pyramids along the Nile...Just remember darling all the while, you belong to me."_

James had kissed her for the first time that night...

"Lara? Lara?"

The dim confines of the wheelhouse intruded on Lara's consciousness. Reality. James was shaking her lightly. "Lara. I hate to wake you. But can you get Caruso up here?"

"What?" Lara shook her head to clear the cobwebs.

"I've been at the helm for almost seven hours. I need him to spell me off. Can you go get him?"

"I've been asleep for seven hours?"

"You sound shocked."

"I haven't slept that much in weeks."

James crouched down in front of her and placed his hands on her shoulders. "If it had been up to me I'd have let you sleep another seven." The warmth she felt in his hands combined with the fresh memory of the dream overwhelmed Lara. It was his kindness she had missed so much. He was a ray of light in what had been for her a sea of darkness. She reached out and caught him in her arms, held him close. "Thank you," she whispered as tears welled up in her eyes.

"You don't have to thank me."

"Yes, I do. For the memories James. Thank you for the memories." She released him and could see tears glistening in his own eyes. Before stepping out into the cold night Lara passed the sleeve of her yellow neoprene jacket over her cheeks. _Thank you for the memories._

Downstairs in the dormitory she found Caruso still asleep. A part of her was irritated at his apparent lack of decency. He had left James at the helm without coming to take over when he should have. She placed a not-so-gentle shove against his shoulder.

"Mr. Caruso, it's time for you to get up."

"Natalie?" he said with eyes still closed.

"What?" Lara was somewhat perturbed by his failure to comply with her request. Ryan's eyes shot open.

"What time is it?"

"Half past nine. Your turn at the helm." She could see the gears turning in his mind. He nodded and then sat up in his sleeping bag. A small gold crucifix slipped out of his white undershirt. "I didn't know you were religious."

"I'm not." It was Caruso's turn to be annoyed. "This was my mother's," he said as he slipped the emblem back into his shirt. "I wear it to remember her. Now if you don't mind I need to get dressed."

_The cheek of this American_. Lara swallowed her response and left the dormitory. The presence of the semi-automatic tucked in her waistband was particularly evident she noticed. She recalled the prescient feeling earlier and wondered if she might have to use the weapon.

* * *

The trawler stood out like a jewel on an endless expanse of rolling black velvet. Its deck was illumined by the glare of two floodlights mounted on the wheelhouse. The laptops in the wheelhouse cast electric reflections on the glass. The air was still and deathly quiet.

Lara was situated by the minisub's control console next to the helm. From there she could see James and Ryan working by the minisub. It was actually more of a robot, barely above three feet in length and another foot in width. Two many-jointed arms protruded at either side of the small plexiglass dome housing the guidance camera. One of the arms ended in a large clamp, the other held a welding torch. At the back of the yellow plastic body was a small prop and rudder. After performing a thorough check of the minisub Ryan and James hoisted it over the stern of the trawler and lowered it into the water.

Lara took over immediately, guiding the device downward. The visual was grainy and dark but she had been down this way before. With quick taps on the control surfaces she angled the minisub to avoid being carried off course by the underwater currents. James and Ryan entered the wheelhouse eager to see what progress had been made. Lara did not turn, she was focused on finding the _Conceição. _With only the sub's searchlight in the pitch black sea she needed a spot of luck and needed to be ready to jump on that luck. _I'm coming Paul._

"There!" James nearly shouted as he thrust a triumphant finger at the corner of the video display.

Lara simply nodded. Despite the cold night air filling the room she could feel sweat beading on her forehead. She unzipped her jacket and wiped her palms on her cotton shirt, one hand at a time. The ship grew larger and larger in the view screen. The sub's searchlight played off the coral embedded in the timbers. The familiar entrance filled Lara's view. With forced calm she led the sub down the deck and into the hold. She knew exactly where it was.

She could never forget.

Another tap at the controls placed the chained box containing the Idol in her view screen. "Is that it?" James asked. Again, Lara nodded silently. She pushed forward on the controls and brought the sub within two feet of the box. Her right hand shifted seamlessly to the arm controls. Her thumb flipped the switch for the torch arm and began to move the blue light over the chains. They were caked with lime and yielded quickly. Lara held her breath as the box fell free and drifted to the bottom of the hold.

"Careful," Ryan cautioned.

"Yes sir," Lara returned. Her tone was tense, clipped. Her hands came back to the controls and guided the sub to the Idol's new resting place. _Let's get this over with. _As she neared the box her spine began to tingle. But it was not the gratifying sensation she often had when a difficult find was finally in her grasp. It was painful. It worked its way to her neck and up until it seemed to be compressing her skull. Her ears began to ring and she could feel the blood throbbing in her temples. Her hands came off the controls and clutched at her head. "Oh, God! Make it stop!"

"What's wrong?" James was already pulling her away from the controls.

"Get her down below!" Ryan ordered. "I'll take care of this."

"That's bloody kind of you after putting her under so much stress!"

"Just do it!" Ryan's steel blue eyes were lit with fire. Lara began to thrash around, her hands clawing at her forehead. One of her fingernails drew blood.

"I can't hold her! Ryan, give me a hand!" James shouted. Ryan turned from the controls and clamped his hands on Lara's arms. She convulsed more violently. Ryan was surprised at her strength. _This isn't normal, _he thought. _Why should she react this way now?_ He twisted her arms downward and in almost to their breaking point. This was not the way he preferred to do it but he needed her attention, now. Lara gasped and stopped thrashing momentarily. He fixed her eyes with his own and looked long and hard. _What are you up to?_ Ryan whispered something that James could barely hear and Lara went limp.

"What...?"

"Get her down below," Ryan ordered again, this time more reverently. "Strap her down if you have to but keep her immobile." This time James complied. Carefully he carried Lara from the wheelhouse.

Ryan returned to the minisub controls and fixed the clamp arm around the box. He guided the device through the confines of the ship as quickly as caution would allow. Once back in open water Ryan relaxed a little. Out of curiosity he flipped open the nearest laptop and accessed the radar feed. _I guess that explains it. _What he saw forced his heart to his stomach. The momentary relief he had felt was replaced by distress. He was not in open water yet.

* * *

James laid Lara carefully on her cot. Her face was ashen but her breathing had returned to normal. "Come on Lara. Pull through this," James whispered.

Lara's eyes fluttered open. "Stop ordering me around."

James smiled weakly. A tear fell down from his cheek. "You gave us a real scare there."

"You know better than to worry about me James," Lara chided. She placed her hand on the back of his neck. The memory of that first kiss on the banks of the Nile, the way he used to hold her, was still fresh in her mind. _Why did it have to be like this? Why not make things like they were?_ Lara questioned. She looked into those silver-blue eyes. He returned her look and it seemed as if he were asking himself the exact same questions. Now Lara remembered why she'd been avoiding James for the past year. Whenever they were together she couldn't help but want to be close to him again.

"Ryan wants me to strap you down." James smiled that giddy smile of his.

"I'll bet he would like that," Lara returned the smile.

"I don't really like him," James whispered. He leaned a little closer to Lara.

"He's a necessary evil," Lara made no effort to move away.

"You think so?" James felt himself drawn to her. Slowly, tentatively, he closed that gap that had seemed so vast, so insurmountable, weeks before. He kissed her. She did not resist. Lara felt the flood of memories wash over her. The fear that had possessed her moments before seemed like only a distant nightmare. She wanted to lose herself in the moment, but James pulled back and as he did so that vast chasm between them seemed to reappear. "I'll go help Ryan." James left without a backward glance. He couldn't look back.

* * *

Ryan worked furiously to free the box from the clutches of the minisub. He could not pull the minisub back on deck, nor could he just release the clamp on the arm from the control console for fear the box would plummet back to the depths. Normally, one person would release the controls while the other secured the item. But Ryan did not have time for this to be a two man job.

The sun was beginning to rival the glare of the floodlights as Ryan took a crowbar to the first of the three locks. Having to lean over the side of the boat gave him limited leverage and every time he pressed against the metal of the box it shifted away. Ryan swore under his breath and hacked at the lock. It came free. He repeated the process with the other two locks.

Hesitantly, he pried the lid back as best he could. He reached in and felt the cold metal of the bottom of the box. It was empty. _No. No, it can't be..._ Ryan pulled out his hand and struck at the box repeatedly with the palm of his hand. "Come on! Where are you?" He struck it once more and heard a rattling sound. _It sounds just like...maybe it is._ Ryan slid his hand back into the box. He traced along the edge of the bottom until his index finger found a hole. _A false bottom, of course!_ He lifted the thin metal sheet and his hand collided with the Idol. The sensation filled him with an exciting foreboding.

"Do you need some help?" A voice asked behind him. He turned to see James.

"No," Ryan pulled the Idol free, grimacing as the lid sliced his hand. "I'll just put this down below and we'll be ready to make way." Ryan said with feigned calm. He pushed past James none too gently and went for the stairs.

_What is he up to?_ James moved to follow but a flashing in the wheelhouse caught his eye. It was the radar display. It showed two blips closing on the ship, and closing fast. "What the hell?" James muttered.

* * *

Lara was pondering what had just happened between her and James when a beeping sound intruded on her thoughts. It was her satellite phone. Lara reached into the duffel bag under her cot and pulled it out. She did not recognize the number.

"Hello?"

"Miss Croft," the voice was unfamiliar. "I have a message for you."

"Who are you? How did you get this number?"

"_Who_ I am is unimportant. _Where _the information I am about to give you came from is unimportant. What _is_ important is how you act on this information. The American, Ryan Caruso, cannot be trusted. His claim to work for American Intelligence is a lie."

"And why should I trust you?" Lara's tone was clipped. It often became so when dealing with manipulators.

"That is unimportant. Consider this a confirmation of your suspicions." The line went dead. Lara sat still for a moment, her mind abruptly thrown into overdrive. _Who could possibly know...?_ Unfortunately for Lara that question was too open-ended. Over the years she had become a magnet for mysterious men; some of it a result of her own doing, some of it not. That this unidentified caller knew she had suspicions about the American made her all the more so. Ryan had never given her overt cause to doubt him but perhaps that was the surest sign that something was wrong. Who could she trust? It was a dilemma she faced much more often than she would have liked. Lara rolled off the cot and headed topside. True or false she needed to find Ryan Caruso. She practically knocked James over as she emerged from the stairway.

"Where's Ryan?"

"He's down below. I think you should see something." James pulled her to the side of the boat and placed some large binoculars in her hands. "Just off the port quarter."

Lara could see two speedboats perhaps thirty feet in length charging toward them.

Lara estimated that they would arrive in only a few minutes.

"Who do you think they are?" James queried.

"I have a feeling Caruso knows." Lara turned and descended. "Keep an eye on our friends," Lara added over her shoulder. Down in the cramped passage Lara remained silent, waiting. Tough experience had taught her that rushing into things often led to disaster. She heard the sound of heavy plastic cases being moved in the storage room towards the stern. Lara pulled the semi-automatic from her waistband and crept towards the hatch. Inside she could see Ryan working at a frenzied pace. Doing what she could only guess.

"Who are you?"

Ryan turned slowly as if sensing she had a gun trained on him. "What do you mean?"

"You don't work for American Intelligence."

"Lara--." Ryan began to stand. Lara clicked off the thumb safety.

"You will stay where you are thank you." Ryan complied. "I received a phone call--." She was cut off by the sound of feet rushing around on the deck above her. What sounded like a scuffle ensued.

"Miss Croft?" A familiar icy voice came from the stairwell. "Bring the Idol or I'll be forced to hurt yet _another_ one of your friends." The tone of voice itself was not threatening but the threat was. Lara had seen what had been done to Paul.

"Where's the Idol?" Lara asked Ryan. He gestured to the black case to his left. "Hand it over, slowly." Her tone was calm but commanding. Ryan handed her the case. She opened it and verified that it indeed was the Idol.

"You don't know who you're dealing with," Ryan said.

"That explains why I took up with you," Lara said mock apologetically. She spun and buried the butt of her pistol in Ryan's temple. He buckled to the ground. Lara tucked the pistol back into her waistband and steeled herself for whatever was topside.

An abysmal sight greeted Lara as she emerged from the stairs. There were at least a dozen armed men swarming all over the deck. Two of them grabbed her. One wrenched the black case from her hands while the other performed a rather vigorous pat-down. Her semi-automatic was removed quickly and with expert hands the gunman ejected the clip, stripped the action and tossed all three parts overboard. Lara's jaw clenched as he did so.

"I thought a mercenary like yourself would appreciate how hard it is to get a good customized pistol like that where I come from," Lara said with feigned casualness.

"I'm no mercenary," the gunman growled.

"Could've fooled me," she said lightly, again it was a feint. They did not reply but pulled her to the bow of the ship. Under different circumstances she would have put up a hell of a fight, but she was at the disadvantage and she knew it. James was kneeling by the anchor. His face was understandably grim. A small splotch of black and blue was beginning to form on his cheek. Standing to his right was the man Lara assumed to be in charge. He was holding a large pistol to James' head.

"Miss Croft. I hope that is the Idol," he gestured to the case in the hands of his henchmen. "For his sake." This man was the owner of that icy resonant voice Lara heard almost three weeks ago. She felt a slight twinge of pain as he spoke; a resurgence of the nightmare that had gripped her earlier. Lara sized up this new opponent, for he was doubtless an opponent, with careful eyes. He was about her height, slightly taller. His skin was dark, dead gray yet living. His hair was dark and longish and curled around his ears and neck. He seemed young, perhaps mid-thirties, but he also seemed old, the way his saturnine flesh seemed to hang over his gaunt frame. His eyes were like spheres of obsidian that sat on shelf-like cheekbones.

"It is."_ You bastard._ One of the gunmen handed over the black case. The leader opened it and smiled; it was a glistening, shark smile.

"Just one more thing before we conclude our transaction. Where is the American?"

"He's down below...how did you—?" She was cut short by the sound of an explosion. On impulse, Lara turned towards the sound in time to see two of the armed men crumple to the ground. Ryan emerged from the stairwell, an H&K G36 rifle in hand. With devastating efficiency he began to cut down the opposing force. Two men appeared around the wheelhouse and Ryan placed a bullet between each of their eyes. The men on either side of Lara trained their weapons on him only to have their heads kicked back in a most ghastly fashion.

Like it was some kind of violent ballet Ryan rolled back into the relative safety of the stairwell as the remainder of the gunmen rounded the aft quarter of the wheelhouse. Another grenade was lobbed. Two more men went down. This time when Ryan emerged it was with a pistol in hand. He took one step, pivoted and dove straight for his enemies. They were dead before he hit the floor.

The leader swung his pistol in Ryan's direction. Reflexively, Lara hacked his hand as he fired and the shot went wide. Alerted to this new threat Ryan turned and aimed at the leader. He casually stepped back behind Lara placing the barrel of his pistol against her throat. Ryan paused for a moment, steel blue eyes connecting with Lara. Even from that distance they seemed sad, apologetic. He shook his head and ran for the stern with a small black case wedged under his arm. He made a running dive into the water, his finale in the violent ballet. Leader took his gun from Lara's throat and fired repeatedly at the surface. Seizing the opportunity Lara crashed her boot onto Leader's foot and hammered her elbow into his ribcage. As he staggered back she turned to face him. Lashing out with her left leg she caught him full in the stomach and then came at him with a right jab. Leader caught her fist in mid-extension. He twisted down and outward; her tendons screamed. Lara was amazed at the power in Leader's grip, by all counts her attack should have left him handicapped but he showed no signs of letting up. Lara buckled to her knees in an attempt to ease the tension in her arm. With a final wrench Leader let go. It was a warning.

"Don't try that again." He sounded more bored than upset.

_He should be furious._ Lara thought as she rose reluctantly to her feet. Out of the corner of her eye she could see one of the speedboats roaring away. Without doubt Ryan Caruso was at the helm.

Leader tossed the pistol, now empty, on the deck and sighed. Apparently he was not fazed in the slightest at having lost more than a dozen men in less than a minute's time. He turned to Lara and smiled that same shark smile.

"Despite this little double cross I am going to keep you alive. In return, you will bring me the Idol."

"You have it," Lara replied stubbornly as she massaged her elbow and forearm.

"No. _This,_" he gestured to the case. "Is not the Idol. It doesn't have what I'm looking for." He placed a hand on her arm and before she could respond she felt a coldness spread through her body. She lost consciousness and fell, motionless, to the deck.


	5. Shadow Games

Ryan kept to the shadows of the wet cobblestone street above the Santa Apolonia train station. He knew that in his current condition he would draw much unwanted attention. His left temple was a swollen collage of black and blue. There was also a cut extending along his jaw almost to his ear courtesy of a stray piece of shrapnel. Another scar for the collection. Ryan limped slightly; the man with the shark smile probably thought he had missed when he fired blindly into the water but he had in fact hit. Ryan had had to dig the bullet out of his thigh without so much as a painkiller. Ryan had learned to accept pain early on but his limp was not so much a pain as a hindrance, it slowed him on his path to absolution. Retribution and absolution.

He turned into a café wedged under a four story apartment building and took a seat in the back, waving off the waitress before she could offer to get him something. A quick assessment was made of his surroundings. It was a narrow establishment with a heavily stocked bar and a case of day old pastries and sandwiches at the far end of the counter. The walls were half tile, half bare, whitewashed concrete and housed pictures of Lisbon, a sign advertising Sagres beer and another with two Jack Russell Terriers advertising single-malt scotch. Thick cigarette smoke mingled with the fumes of hot cooking oil. Six men, not one of them younger than fifty, were seated around the room speaking loudly in Portuguese.

A long fifteen minutes passed before Ian arrived. He was dressed in a very out-of-place tailored three piece suit, as if he'd just come from Sotheby's. He walked with typical imposing posture. Ryan wished Fisher wouldn't draw attention to himself. He sat across from Ryan, careful to position himself so as to block any curious stares. He flagged down the waitress, who was now a little put out at the hot-cold treatment, and ordered some grilled sardines.

"Tell me you took every precaution," Fisher began quietly. Ryan could sense tension in his voice. Ryan knew that, unfortunately, this conversation would not ease that tension.

"I did."

"Then how do you explain what happened?" Fisher broke a piece of dry bread as if to add emphasis to the question.

"I have no explanation," he replied. _Better to be honest._ Despite the hours of contemplation and self-assessment he had had while driving the boat to the Azores and flying to Lisbon he could come to no conclusions.

Fisher munched quietly on the bread as if in tranquil rumination. Ryan, however, could see the fire burning his mind. He was asking himself dozens of questions. "Ryan, I don't worry about you. I know how capable you are. I worry that this represents a huge breach in security. How did he find us? Has his power grown that much?"

Ryan couldn't tell if the last questions were rhetorical or not. The waitress returned with Fisher's order and Ryan looked away, hiding the bruise on his forehead where Lara had pistol-whipped him. Once she was out of earshot he said: "Maybe someone spotted us at the docks. Maybe someone at the National Reconnaissance Office has been turned and they watched us by satellite. Maybe a thousand things. But the bottom line is _we_ have the Idol."

Ian smirked a little. The Americans. Always dealing in the bottom line. Always concerned about the results. Always forgetting the minutiae that was so terribly important in this business. It was so awfully Machiavellian of them. _The ends justify the means, eh Ryan? _"Yes, we do. And Carlos knows that_ we_ have it and not the Croft woman. Any attempt at a trade now will alert Carlos to our real intent."

Ryan pursued the point undeterred. _I'm not waiting anymore._ "We wanted bait for a chance to trap Carlos. We have the bait. What does it matter if we have to change the trap?"

A burst of laughter from the old bar patrons caused Ryan to jump slightly in his seat. Ian noted it with seeming indifference. "You've had quite the day Ryan. Why don't you take the Idol up North. It will be safe there until we can formulate a new strategy."

"We've been _formulating_ for years, dammit," Ryan swore quietly. "I want Carlos _dead_. Don't tell me to wait when we're this close!" Ryan raised his voice slightly, careful to keep it under the din of the café. He could see Ian was silently seething. Ryan had known this conversation would be tense, why avoid it?

"Caruso, you are a good soldier." Fisher's voice was surprisingly even. His normally severe face was a mask. "You have one problem, however. You think you are the General, but you're not. You _take_ orders."

Ryan clenched his jaw. "And you wonder why this operation is going so poorly." He stood and walked out of the café, this time making no effort to hide.

* * *

In her semi-conscious state Lara was vaguely aware of a needle sliding into the vein of her left arm. She could hear muffled voices speaking in low tones above her. They seemed very far away. An awful headache pushed its way into her conscious mind making the transition from dreams to reality complete, and painful.

She propped herself up on her elbow and took in the surroundings with sore eyes. The room was a windowless, bare concrete cube twelve feet to a side. Lighting was supplied by two bulbs recessed in the ceiling behind a steel mesh embedded in the concrete. The mesh blocked more than it admitted leaving the room in dreary half-light. In one corner was a bucket she assumed was for the necessities. The door was steel; smooth, without hinges. Lara judged that it would take quite a bit of plastic explosive to breach it. And what was on the other side? How many guards were there? What kinds of weapons did they have?

Lara began to speculate on the use of excessive force to secure her exit. It was for her a last resort, but her captors, whoever they were, had broken the rules. And that breach, whether they knew it or not, denied them the courtesy of compassion on her part.

The door slid open. _Hence the lack of hinges._ A man was shoved into the room and the door closed. Instinctively Lara watched her exit slide shut. The far side of the door frame was recessed into the concrete wall a good six inches. _Prying the door open is out._ Lara turned her attention to the figure prostrate across from her. He turned over and her breath caught in her throat.

"Paul?"

"Lara," he smiled with difficulty. His jaw was swollen and puffy. "I knew you'd come."

Lara crawled over and wrapped her arms around his neck. She began to cry, tears of relief and tears of anger. "But, to be honest I had figured it would be with a lot of Scotland Yard for backup," he added. His smile widened causing a cut on his lip to reopen. "Ow."

A slight laugh escaped through the tears. She dabbed the sleeve of her neoprene jacket against his lip. "Where are we?"

"Hell if I know. Some place very well-protected."

"We need to find a way out."

"Did you not hear me lass? Very...well...protected. I've been here for almost three weeks and I've never seen sunlight."

"Then how do you know it's been three weeks?" Lara cracked a wry smile as she stood shakily. The levity was much needed. Paul pulled himself to a sitting position, groaning as he did so from a few broken ribs. He watched with a kind of juvenile fascination as Lara passed her hands along the concrete.

"Have you found anything yet lass?"

"Maybe if I had some support from my cell mate..." Lara returned.

"And when we bust out of here, what do we use against the armed guards? Since we are unarmed at the present."

"You always have weapons," she said softly, recalling her first lessons in combat training. Her forays into the tomb raiding world following graduation from Oxford had been almost lethal. She faced a host of dangers that seemed so different from the world she had imagined in the gleaming halls of the Smithsonian. As a result she had called upon the expertise of a retired army Major, Terrence Lott.

"Even the unarmed carry weapons," Lott had said. "Fear, deception, information, money and sex are all powerful weapons when applied properly. The greatest mistake you can make is to assume that you are helpless when you are 'unarmed.'" Lara laughed inside when she remembered that the very next day Lott had begun to train her quite extensively on marksmanship.

Lara's mind began to churn, methodically assembling the facts. She didn't know where she was. The location was obviously very secure. Since she was still alive her captors needed something from her still. Then a very large piece revealed itself missing from the puzzle._ Do they need anything from James or is he...expendable?_ Lara could not face that word. She turned from the wall back to Paul.

"Have you seen James?" her tone was anxious, imploring.

"Was he out there with you?" Paul was taken aback at the uncharacteristic lack of cool displayed by Lara. For the several years he had worked with her he had never known her to falter like this. Or at least not to show it.

"He volunteered to come...oh God," Lara whispered. "I said I didn't want to lose him. He said I wouldn't." Her voice was angry, bitter.

"What happened?" Paul saw the need to divert her attention.

_ "_I was afraid Paul." Admitting that seemed to give Lara her composure again. "Whatever was down in that wreck...it was powerful. It hurts just to think about it. I almost didn't want to go after it again. But an opportunity to lure out your captors using the Idol as bait presented itself. A man claiming to be part of a secret division of the American intelligence community contacted me with the plan. I later discovered him to be a tremendous liar. Surprise, surprise."

"Ah, taking it out on the opposite sex. I see where this is going," Paul said in traditional jest. If he were not in such a sorry state Lara would have jabbed him.

"Well, you know most of my problems come as a result of men." She paused and regained the thread of her story. "We went to recover the Idol and were ambushed. The American escaped with the Idol and James and I were captured."

The levity of the moment faded and Lara found herself again with too many missing pieces and a monstrous headache. That cold unconsciousness which had taken her supplied none of the rest that actual sleep did.

"He's alive." Paul's words startled Lara.

"How do you know?"

"Scottish intuition." Again the smile. Again the bloody lip.

_Thank heavens for his sense of humor,_ Lara thought as she wiped away the blood.

* * *

The room that surrounded Carlos Vicente was a stark contrast to the room pictured on his monitor. Spacious and luxurious. Extravagant. High ceilings of dark wood framed a forty foot expanse of stained glass. The crimson and violet shards displayed a most remarkable history and when the sun managed to penetrate the small slits in the roof above them, they danced on the deep, red carpet.

There was a balcony ten feet off the ground that wrapped around the perimeter of the room, allowing access to books available in no other collection in the world. It was not vanity that had caused him to amass all those volumes, it was necessity. The walls of the lower level were adorned with paintings that were, like the books, only of interest to him. On the square pillars supporting the balcony, dull-gold light fixtures were mounted. The lights were turned low. Carlos liked darkness.

Even more so since the Alignment had taken place.

A large, thick table sat in the exact middle of the room. On each of its legs was carved a shrieking monkey. On the table was a computer monitor, the only hint of newness in a room that stank of slow rot and decay.

The disparity between his location and that of the two urchins displayed on that monitor appealed to the sadist in him. A cruel, shark smile crossed his face as he watched the woman attend to the wounded man. Seeing the depth of her affection for that man almost made him want to hurt the man some more. Would her affection deepen? How could that affection be twisted?

He wished she would take off that jacket. Perhaps when she was brought before him he would have it removed by force. That would make her angry no doubt, maybe even a little excited. And that thought excited Carlos. If time were not an issue he could really have some fun with the woman. She was already being broken down. He could twist her into something vile, malicious.

But time _was_ an issue. Curse the American! For her to track him down would require a certain finesse. She would need to use her contacts which, as his research had shown, were extensive. She would need to be careful and cunning. None of these things would be accomplished if she were what she was becoming. It was best to let her go now. But not before he extracted everything possible from her.

"Dimas," he called. From the double doors in front of Carlos a youngish man in a black suit appeared. An Uzi sub-machine gun dangled from his shoulder by a narrow strap. "Their conversation has grown stale. Switch the men. Perhaps her conversation with the other man will yield more information." Dimas turned to leave.

_That will bring her happiness,_ a voice from within called. _What will make her miserable, Carlos?_ The Voice was a teacher Carlos had learned. It had taught him many things when heeded. No longer did it make him cringe as it once had.

"Dimas," Carlos called again.

"Yes?"

"Make him bleed." _Now we will see new depths of the woman. Depths of affection and anger._

_

* * *

  
_

Lara was drifting into a fitful sleep as the door ground open. Two large men entered and pulled Paul to his feet.

"Leave him be," she growled. The men paid no attention but guided Paul out of the room. With astonishing speed Lara was on her feet. She shot out with her left leg catching one of the men in the small of his back. His companion whirled around hoping to catch her with a quick jab but she was too quick. Like a blur she ducked down and to the left while ramming her foot into his knee. The man screamed and fell back. The first guard had recovered and lunged for her. Paul blocked him with a clumsy body check.

Seizing the opportunity, Lara sprang over the guard she had felled and broke for the door. Outside she was met by four more guards. Before she could react she felt the white heat of a club hitting the side of her face. As she staggered back the guards closed on her and threw her to the back of the cell. Lara ricocheted off the cold concrete and landed on her face.

Through darkening vision she saw the guards pull their comrades and Paul from the cell. She struggled to her feet, emitting a feral cry as she did so. But before she regained her footing she felt the prick of a dart in her neck. She knew what it was without removing it but something innate in the human experience caused her to anyway. Her vision closed to darkness and she fell to the floor.

Lara awoke to find herself in a chair. Around her blackness extended into infinitum. There were no restraints to keep her seated yet she could not stand. She was paralyzed yet she could feel all of her body.

"Lara." A voice called from the darkness. It was a smooth, calm voice. But Lara could feel the undercurrent of malice in it.

"Yes?" Lara's fingers assumed a white-knuckled grip on the chair.

"Lara, why do you resist your teacher?"

"Who are you?"

"I've already answered that. Now answer me."

Lara was becoming frustrated. "I resist you because I don't know who you are."

"I am your teacher," the voice replied in mock frustration. "I desire to educate you."

"How?"

"There is a place. A dark place. A dark place inside you that you don't look at. You fear it. It is in this place that you keep all of your secret murders, your dark fantasies, your lies, your hatred, your spite, your lust for power. You've locked them away, but they still remain."

"You are mistaken to presume you know me," Lara countered.

"Ah, the noblewoman surfaces. She always does when the threats are personal. No Lara. I know you very well. I know you better than anyone, even yourself. I've been acquainting myself with your dark place. That dark place you hardly know. And that is what gives me license to be your teacher. Don't fear the darkness Lara. Embrace it. For what you are least willing to have, that is what you are."

"Enough!" Lara tried to stand but her limbs remained leaden.

"Do you hate your teacher?" the voice whimpered.

"You are _not_ my teacher!"

"We shall see," this time the voice was openly malicious now. "Wake up Lara."

_It was a dream. _Lara found herself in a fey mood between dreams and consciousness. She wished she could stay hovering there. Dreams and consciousness had become nightmares. But in limbo, she didn't have to face either.

Again the needle in the vein.

Lara's first thought upon regaining consciousness was: _I hope Winston doesn't think I've picked up a cocaine addiction._ She almost laughed at the dream-awakening thought. Winston thinking such a thing of her was as absurd as her actually picking up the habit.

She sat there, temporarily numb, while the two guards retreated from the cell. She felt cold. A quick assessment showed the reason. While unconscious someone had taken her jacket and boots, probably thinking those items posed a threat to the guards. She shivered slightly and rubbed her arms. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the door had been left open. Seconds later another man was carried in and dumped unceremoniously on the floor. Lara could barely contain herself when she glimpsed his face.

"James! Are you alright? Say something!" She stumbled to his side and began to take stock of his injuries.

"Stop ordering me around," he coughed.

"_Touche._" One of his eyes was blackened. There was swelling around his cheekbones. His forearms and hands were a zig-zag pattern of small cuts reminiscent of a Jackson Pollock painting. Lara checked his legs, nothing. Torso, nothing. His wounds were deliberate but there was no rhyme or reason to any of it. If her captors had wanted him beaten there were certainly more painful ways of doing it. _Take Paul, for example._

"You look awful," she whispered. Doctor Montgomery, she reflected, would definitely have something to say about the self-inflicted guilt she was experiencing.

"You aren't exactly Vogue material right now either," he referenced the swollen cut to the side of her left eye. She touched it lightly. It stung. Strange that she hadn't felt anything until he brought it up. James rolled into a sitting position and leaned his head back against the concrete. Lara moved to sit beside him. There were many things she wanted to say. All of the walls she had built around her emotions the past year were being eroded like a sandbar under the surf.

"James...I'm so sorry."

"No Lara, I'm the one who should be sorry. I-I wasn't man enough to—." He struggled like he wanted to say more but couldn't find the words.

"They had us outnumbered and outgunned," Lara cut in to spare him the embarrassing silence. "And you never were much of one to fight. We didn't stand a chance."

James opened his mouth as if to correct her but then swallowed his response. Lara reached down and clasped his hand in hers. Now it was her turn to comfort, to tell James that everything would be okay. She sought to convey that sentiment, even though she did not feel it. Whether James felt comforted or not she could not tell, he simply stared at nothing, unable to meet her eyes. She felt mildly frustrated by this but it was tempered by an acceptance that they had both been through far too much in that past day. Or was it more? Lara had lost all concept of time after her run in with the man with the voice that caused her pain.

"Lara..." James began. "There's something that I need to tell you..."

Lara's heart began to race. He was going to say the words that she hoped for and dreaded. She fought to accept what was happening now without any of the barriers that she had built around herself. She dropped her defenses and found an odd sense of strength there, a strength so seldom used she hardly knew it existed.

"Lara," James began again. "I—."

"I know James. I know." Tears began to well up in her eyes. Tears of sorrow that she had left her walls up so long and tears of joy that they had now come down and let James back into her life.

"No Lara, you need to hear this," James' voice was stern as he finally mustered the courage to say what he needed to say. "I—."

A rude scraping noise of metal on metal intruded on the moment. The door of the cell slid back revealing four guards. The first to enter clubbed James at the base of his skull knocking him out cold. Lara exploded at the indecency of this intrusion. She lashed out with her bare feet catching the first guard in the groin and then hammering his head into the concrete of the cell with another kick to his chest. The other guards were apparently well-aware of this scenario and advanced cautiously with clubs bared. One swung and Lara ducked below the blow and responded by ramming her lowered right shoulder into his abdomen. Placing both of her hands behind his right knee she lifted and toppled the guard. A kick to the fallen guard's head was followed by a roundhouse to the nearest remaining guard. He caught her leg at its fullest extension and lifted. As Lara struggled to regain balance the second guard hammer-locked her throat with his forearm and brought her close to keep her from squirming. She was so close she could smell his sweat through the black nylon of his jumpsuit. A well-placed elbow to his rib cage loosened the hammer-lock slightly but not before the other guard rammed the point of his club into her stomach. Lara gasped for air and could not find it. An acrid bilious taste rose in her throat as her body attempted to wretch, anything to clear the airway. Her body convulsed slightly and then went limp. The fight was over.

* * *

A long corridor. Rough hands. A dark room. A steel chair.

Lara awoke with a cough. A mixture of blood and bile stung her throat and filled her nostrils with a foul odor. Pain shot from her arms at the slightest movement; whoever had tied her up had not accounted for circulation. Above all this was a headache of epic proportions that felt like her skull was shrinking and her brain expanding.

She heard thick doors swing closed behind her. Opening her eyes was still unpalatable. Breathing was a chore. She felt as if she'd been running; her legs ached and her heart raced.

While sucking in heavy gasps Lara struggled to open her eyes. Fortunately the ambient light was dim. A few muted spots of yellow and from below violets and scarlets. Something moved to her right. A man. He turned and advanced. Lara's stomach involuntarily knotted.

"Have you ever seen anything like it?" The man gestured to the surrounding room. The spacious, extravagant room. Lara's spine tingled at the sound of the man's voice.

"No I haven't." _Frankly I'm not seeing much of anything. _

"It is a rare privilege you have to be here. I hoped you would be impressed."

"Get to the point," Lara said wearily. She blinked slowly trying to focus. There was a large table about four feet in front of her. Another man, a statue of a man, stood in the far left corner of the room. Lara closed her eyes again. Even the momentary strain had taxed her. As if inflamed by shards of dull light her headache worsened. As the headache grew breathing became more difficult. The knot in her stomach tightened.

"At this point you and I have a common enemy. A common goal if you will. The American Ryan Caruso has something that belongs to me."

"The Idol."

"Call it what you will. You are going to find him and get it for me."

"In your dreams."

The man continued as if she hadn't spoken. "And I suggest you don't involve anyone else in this. I had to kill a couple good Interpol agents last week. It was more of a nuisance than anything." He pulled some photos from the desk and put them in front of her. "Look at them," he ordered.

"Go to hell." Lara half snarled.

The man paused for a moment as if considering the option and then he replied. "That's the idea."

Lara's eyes shot open. The man's face was directly in front of hers. He was smiling that shark smile but he was not amused in the slightest. Lara's stomach felt like it would collapse on itself. Of its own accord her breathing quickened. It was as if something had hijacked her body and had thrown every switch into the "on" position. Then "off" and "on" again. _What's happening to me?_

"The arithmetic is quite simple. I have two things that you obviously care for," the man with the shark smile gestured to the monitor atop the large table. On the split screen Lara could make out two men in separate rooms. James and Paul. "And you are in a position to acquire two things that I care for."

Lara gestured tiredly to her bonds. "I'm not in much of a position for anything."

Shark man brought his face so close to Lara's she could feel his breath. "Don't be so certain." He stood up and smiled again. Again totally devoid of joviality. "Bring me the Idol and Ryan Caruso and I will release to you your friends. You have one week. After that time is up I will send you a finger from one of your friends for each day you are late."

Lara reared up in protest. The pain from her swollen wrists shot directly into her brain. Her stomach, her head, all of it felt as if on the verge of explosion. And then suddenly it dissipated. Lara felt coldness on her arm. It was shark man's hand. "You will do as I command."

Her stomach filled with ice. Her mind released its tenuous hold on the present.

Darkness.

Nothing.

* * *

_Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep._

Lara reached out her hand to shut off the alarm clock. The darned thing wouldn't quit.

_Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep._

She rolled over in bed and faced the awful machination. She pounded the weak plastic casing without success. Pretending to ignore the device she faced the hardwood ceiling of her spacious room in Surrey. No luck. She rolled away and pulled the thick covers over her head. _Leave me be. I am so tired just let me alone. _

She threw the covers back in a last attempt to free herself of the clock's rule. Instead of her room at Croft Manor was darkness. A shadow emerged with gleaming teeth and glowing red eyes. In an instant it was on her. She could feel actual icy fingers clamping onto her throat. The teeth came at her. The shadow would sate his hunger with her.

She screamed. She screamed as if for hours from the bottom of her being until it roiled out from her insides and charred her throat.

_Stop. _

_ Where does it end? Where is the line between darkness and light? And where am I?_

Her eyes opened distrusting. It had all been so real. What was fake and what was true? What was dream and what was awake? Her throat hurt as if she had actually been screaming. Her head hurt immensely and breathing came in shuddering gulps.

All at once sensory data flooded into her thoughts. Smells of diesel and urine stumbled on top of bitterness in her mouth which in turn blended into gnawing hunger and sounds of traffic. The eyes sought to make reason of it all.

She was lying on her side in an alley half-encased in a heap of refuse. Above her the early afternoon sky was overcast. Despite these circumstances she didn't feel like getting up. She didn't feel like anything. The sound of a train that seemed much too close battered her ears. _Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep._

Lara's heart started again. She screwed her eyes shut. _Please God no. I can't handle this right now. I...just... _But this was not like her nightmare. Something was different. A small vibration against her thigh. A cell phone? Lara dug into her pocket with numb hands and pulled out a small phone. _It was real._ She flipped it open.

"Hello?" Her voice was coarse and hollow.

"One week, starting now. You have some money in your pocket; enough to get you to the airport. I suggest you work quickly." The line went dead.

Reflexively Lara checked the time. It was 12:05. She stumbled to leaden legs and slowly tried to work feeling back into her body. Everything was numb, raw. At her first step away from the alley wall she collapsed landing face first in the trash and rubble. Angrily, she rose to her feet once more and carefully plodded forward. Some of her strength returned and she was able to reach the street. Not many people were on the sidewalk. Lara thought that was probably a good thing, less attention the better.

To her right was a train station. She could hear something over the loudspeakers...Portuguese, continental Portuguese judging by the accent. _So I'm in Portugal. Shark man is in Portugal. Here he'll pay for what he's done. _Lara consulted a map in one of the red plastic enclosures by the tracks. She was in a place called Mem Martins, almost the end of the Sintra line that extended out from central Lisbon. Lara purchased a ticket for the train and slumped onto a bench to wait.

_And when I get to the airport? I don't have enough to buy a ticket and I have no passport. I could go to the consulate. No, I can't afford to wait. I can't risk their involvement. _Lara pulled out the phone again and dialed a number from memory.

"Hello?"

"Winston, it's me."

"Dear God! Lara, we thought...we thought...are you alright? Where are you?"

"I'm in Lisbon. Listen carefully. I need you to get the next flight here and bring enough money for you and I to fly back to London. I want to be there by tonight. Do you understand?"

"Yes, yes. You have no idea how relieved I am to hear you. But are you alright?"

"No," Lara admitted. _He would know anyway._ "But the sooner you get here the better I'll be."

"I will be right there."

"And bring a change of clothes if you would," Lara added.

"I will. Love you." Lara smiled slightly as Winston did that smacking sound of a kiss over the phone.

"Love you too." She hung up. It was the first bit of levity she'd had in...however long it had been since she last saw Paul. As if on cue the clouds parted a bit and the sun peeked through. Lara turned her face to it and soaked it in, feeling ever so slightly energized by it.

A series of clatters announced the arrival of her train. She boarded and collapsed into an empty seat. _I'm coming Paul. _

_ I'm coming, James. I'm not going to lose you again._


	6. Loss

It was such a harmless thing really. A small handle of hard plastic grooved with finger holds, a tiny red LED light, a red button underneath a metal cap that could be flipped back with one's thumb and a slender antenna.

When the button was depressed a radio wave of a specific frequency would emit from the antenna and would carry through the air until it collided with a coded receptor. The receptor would then initiate a chain reaction of increasing energy along a three-inch length of copper wire. This firing train would end within a matter of milliseconds. In the blink of an eye the block of Semtex high explosive would receive the increasingly energetic chain and then detonate. The blast would deplete the surrounding oxygen instants before the supersonic shockwave tore out in a blinding release of energy and heat.

Really it was such a harmless thing.

The target was a mere twenty meters away from the car where Ryan sat holding the detonator. Some might find it uncomfortably close but Ryan was well trained in the use of explosives; he knew exactly how large the blast would be. He would be outside its radius, but he would be close enough to see the man enter his car. He would see his face just before he depressed the button.

_And the war will be over. Truth and right prevails. _

All the risks Ryan had taken, all the work he put in, paled in comparison to the privilege that was his to deal the kill stroke. The doors of the office building in front of him opened. Two men strode out. One, the driver not the target, took his place behind the steering wheel of the black Mercedes-Benz sedan and waited for his employer, the target, to take his place in the car.

Ryan flipped off the detonator cap and poised his thumb over the red button. But he did not depress it, he wanted to be certain the target was crushed within the metal confines of the sedan. _No escape this time._

But he didn't get in the car. He looked back at the building as a woman and a child emerged from the doors and quickly piled into the back seat. Ryan's thumb wavered over the button. _Why did they have to be here now?_ He took a deep breath and steadied himself. His faith would not allow him to back down now. The target moved to the passenger side.

Before opening the door, however, a secretary rushed out from the office building. She motioned for the target to sign some urgent paperwork before he left. The target left the side of the car and moved to back to the front of the office building, just to the edge of the blast radius.

_Patience. Patience. Patience._

The driver of the target vehicle rolled down the window and began to question the target. Ryan kept his finger poised on the detonator. He could see where this was going. The target waved off the driver, he would take a taxi home. The black Mercedes began to pull away from the curb taking the Semtex and the kill stroke, the end of the war, with it.

_No!_

Ryan depressed the button.

A cacophony of car alarms mingled, harmonized and then split off into chaos. Each one blaring its own tune; trying to drown out the others. Around the disjointed chorus solemn sentinels of glass and steel witnessed the fireball climb heavenward and then dissipate into the night sky. Their passive faces were illumined by the flames that remained.

_They felt no pain._ Ryan reminded himself. _It didn't even take a second._

He climbed from his car and approached the burning wreck cautiously. The wreck itself was not important. His target lay on the far side. Dead. Behind the target his secretary was slumped against the wall. She had been thrown against the building and simultaneously impaled with a piece of shrapnel.

_She felt no pain._ Ryan assured himself. _If she had..._

He heard a groan at his feet. The target! _No! I killed you! Damn you! How were you spared? They all died and _you _were spared! _

Ryan reached for his Glock .40. _I'll send you straight to hell!_ From within the lobby the man heard shouts. _The guards! _Flashes of light. Ryan felt something white hot at his neck. The rest of his body went cold. One thought blanketed his mind: escape. Trying to stay low he rushed for his car. Blood spilled down into the collar of his shirt. He applied pressure to the wound. It was serious but not spurting. The bullet had not clipped a vein. It made a clean exit.

More shouts, more flashes. Pain. Heat shot up from his side. An adrenaline-induced surge propelled him forward. He yanked open the door of his car and before he even touched the seat had switched on the engine and gunned the motor.

Escape.

Bullets rammed the rear of the car and blasted out windows and mirrors. Ryan rammed his foot to the ground and screeched out of the narrow street. Blood had soaked his shirt and his trousers. He fought to stay calm, stay focused.

_Damn you. Damn you._

On the rim of his consciousness he heard something. Above the alarms, the gunfire, the sound of his own heaving breath. _Sirens? No. _It was a wail. The wail became a scream. Many screams. They multiplied and assailed him. They vastly outweighed the alarms. Ryan took his hands from the wheel and clutched at his ears.

His car veered and charged straight into a street lamp.

* * *

"Stop!" Ryan Caruso screamed. Slowly, consciousness resumed its dreary procession. His body was cold pocked with patches of heat. Reflexively he touched his neck and side half-expecting to find blood but only finding scars. The fingers of his left hand were wrapped around the handgrip of his Glock .40.

He rose wearily from his cot and limped over to the far end of the vast chamber. His leg was still sore but had improved a bit. He had more mobility now, not all of it, but enough. _Enough to end it._

Ryan sunk to his knees before the altar and set his pistol on the cold stone surface. He reached into his shirt and pulled out the small gold crucifix. Taking it in his right hand he bowed his head.

"Father, forgive me. I have sinned."

* * *

"We've started our initial descent into Gatwick international airport. We'll be landing at runway 58 and then we'll taxi to..." The pilot of the British Airways jet droned on with useless paraphernalia.

Despite the fifth of scotch she'd consumed, with Winston's disapproval, Lara's hands remained fastened to the armrests. She stared straight forward without so much as blinking. Winston had to remind himself that he was not seated next to a corpse.

_My Lara, where are you? Who is this sitting next to me? Who is this empty shell of a woman? Surely it is not you. How can it be? Where were you? Why can't you tell me? Oh what has happened to you my little Lara?_

Lara turned abruptly in her seat. "What did you say?"

"I didn't say anything." Winston replied, mildly alarmed.

Lara stared at him for a moment, searching, then returned to her previous posture.

"...Flight attendants prepare the cabin for landing."

Winston sighed quietly. His muscles began to relax. _Home at last._

"Winston, please. Now is no time for this." Lara was facing him again. This time her tone was more accusatory.

"No time for what?" Winston's brow creased.

Lara turned back to the seat in front of her. "You know I don't like to talk about that."

"Lara, what are you talking about? Dear God, what do you mean by this?"

Lara faced Winston again. Something had lit in her eyes, something he hadn't seen in many years. "I was no more responsible for what happened to them than you were. I couldn't stop it. I couldn't help that I survived. God knows I wish I could fix that some days." Her face twisted into a grimace and her eyes screwed shut but tears still escaped.

"Lara what's wrong?" Winston whispered. He wanted to touch her but at the same time feared her.

"You know damn well what's wrong!" Lara hissed. Passengers in the nearby seats were now staring at this odd couple. A flight attendant peered at them from her jump-seat trying to gauge what was happening.

"Lara...please tell me what's wrong."

With a growl she turned back to the window and folded her arms across her chest. Outside, the gray, rainy expanse of Gatwick airport rushed up to meet them. The roar of turbofoils reversing accompanied the thud and shake of landing. Within moments they were at the concourse.

Before the captain had extinguished the seatbelt light Lara had unbuckled herself "Excuse me," Lara said curtly as she stepped over Winston and strode down the aisle. Passengers' expressions ranged from mildly bewildered to perturbed. As Winston was grabbing his bag from the overhead bin he heard a slight commotion at the front of the plane.

"Miss, please wait until the jetway has extended. I'll have to ask you to return to your seat. Miss...miss...you can't do that! Security!"

Winston bolted as fast as old legs would carry him. He arrived at the front in time to see the door wide open and the jetway collar not yet fully extended to the plane's fuselage.

"She just forced the door and jumped," the flight attendant explained. "She's daft I tell you. Someone please call security."

As soon as it was manageable Winston jumped onto the jetway and scurried up it to the terminal. He could see a crowd gathering just outside the door. He heard raised voices. _What now?_

He pushed through the crowd to find out what was the matter. At the center of a sizable circle was Lara straddling a middle-aged man, pounding on him with both fists.

"Give me my friends back! Give them back!"

"Make way, move! Security!" Two officers cut through the crowd and grabbed the frantic Lara.

"No! Let me go! He's a liar, he's not from American Intelligence! Don't let him go!" Lara bucked like a bull. The officers fought to keep her under control but she thrashed as one possessed. One attempted to put her in a headlock and she bit his arm.

"Aaa!" the man screamed. His compatriot lifted his nightstick and clubbed Lara over the head. Winston could barely breathe. _What is happening?_ He pushed forward to get to Lara but more security had arrived and was barring the whole crowd. Two officers placed the unconscious Lara in a wheelchair and rushed her off down the wide steel-gray concourse.

* * *

White.

Bright white.

But oddly enough there was no pain. Just white.

"Miss Croft?" a calm voice queried.

_Should I respond?_

"Yes."

There were some whisperings between beings she could not make out. Too much white. _Why is there so much white?_

Anxiety spread ever so slightly over her body, an uncomfortable tingling sensation.

"How do you feel?"

"Anxious." More whispers. Shuffling feet. A door closing. A figure came out from the white. A familiar figure...who...?

"The sedatives we gave you are starting to wear off. Just remain calm."

"Dr. Montgomery," Lara whispered as she closed her eyes. If she didn't see it maybe it would go away. "Where am I?"

"The St. John's and Elizabeth's Hospital for the mentally ill."

* * *

Out in the corridor Winston waited anxiously.

"I regret that I didn't complete the original diagnosis when she first came in," Dr. Conrad Montgomery began solemnly. "Her symptoms definitely called for follow-up."

"What symptoms? What are you talking about?" Winston clasped his hands and wrung them methodically. It had been twenty four hours since Lara was admitted to St. John's and Elizabeth's Hospital for the mentally ill and he was suffering for lack of solid information.

"Withdrawal, insomnia, bouts of anger and depression, and now this," the doctor gestured to the white room where Lara lay, stirring listlessly with the after-effects of sedatives. "She's suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder and sleep apnea. She hasn't been getting enough oxygen when she's asleep. As a result her cerebral cortex is being overrun by the vascular region that surrounds it. There's only been a two percent decrease that we've been able to see with an MRI but the trend is what worries me."

Winston looked hard at the doctor then at his hands then back at the doctor. He tried to keep up with what health news he could in _The Daily Telegraph_ but this business of disorders and abnormalities was beyond him. Sensing his distress Dr. Montgomery continued.

"The area that has been hardest hit is her frontal lobe, the area that controls learning and complex rationale. Her IQ hasn't lessened one bit, she still possesses all of her general knowledge which is considerable, but if this vascular swelling continues unchecked she could lose her ability to learn new tasks and assimilate new knowledge."

"What can be done?" Winston whispered.

"We'll need to keep her here. The delusional episodes she displayed on the plane were borderline schizophrenic. Further stress could push her over the edge. With rest and medication I'm confident we can pull her back."

Winston nodded. His face was ashen but within the tortured chambers of his own mind some degree of solace had been found. "I'd like to see her."

"Of course. She's been restrained so there's no danger."

_No danger?_ Winston thought. _My most cherished friend is losing her mind._ He stifled the rebuttal and shuffled silently into the white room. He sat reverently at Lara's side and stroked her face with his weathered hand. She turned. Her face was a tense, tortured mask lined with pain and unrest.

"Lara? Can you hear me?"

"Of course I can," she replied weakly. "What did they say?"

"You'll be alright. You'll have to stay..." Winston's voice cracked and he bit his lip. "You'll have to stay here for a while. But, you'll get better."

Lara fixed his gaze with the most stern look she could manage. "Winston, I'm not crazy."

Winston turned away and covered his eyes with his hand. "Lara, you attacked a complete stranger. You nearly killed him with your bare hands. You almost attacked _me_. I'm not so sure what to believe."

It was Lara's turn to bite her lip. In the deep, drug-laden recesses of memory she seemed to remember her attacks and her berating of her trusted friend, the man who was almost a father to her. She had hoped it was all just another nightmare. No such luck. "Winston, please believe me. I have to get out of here. If I don't Paul and James are...Winston, they'll be killed." Her voice caught and her eyes began to tear up. "I'm sure of it. The men who kidnapped us set me loose to find something for them. If I don't find it in the next four days James and Paul will be tortured and killed. Please, Winston. You've got to trust me."

Winston screwed his eyes shut, his lined face contorting into a pattern of stress and helplessness. He opened his eyes with a sigh and gazed past her to the door.

"Winston?" Silently he arose and began to leave. Lara began to whimper. "Please Winston. I...I'm not crazy. I have to get out."

Without looking back Winston opened the door and stepped into the hall. He surveyed the sterile corridor and turned left towards a phone booth mounted on the wall. He picked up the receiver and dialed a number from memory.

"This is Lott." The voice on the other end was gruff, tired but very aware.

"Terrence, it's Winston. I need your help with something."


	7. Answers

Lara fought hard to focus in the darkness. The air was cool outside of her blankets. She brushed against them. They were the rough, warm wool blankets of the old military surplus brand. They were not hospital blankets.

A shaft of yellow light appeared above and to her left. A door had been opened and with it everything became clear. She was lying in a makeshift bed at the base of a stone staircase. A figure appeared in the doorway above and flipped a switch. Bare bulbs illumined the area around her. She was in a cellar. Her cellar. The figure was Winston.

"The police came by to look for you. I had to hide you down here. I brought you some food." He knelt beside her and offered a glass and some soft bread.

"Bless you Winston," she whispered. "How long has it been since I left the hospital?"

"Two weeks," came the swift reply. Lara's heart jumped into her throat. _Two weeks? No, it can't be. _"Oh, and this came for you." Winston handed her a small box.

_No. It can't be._ With trembling hands she opened the brown paper flaps. Ten fingers fell into her lap. "No! It can't be!" Lara screamed. Winston shook her.

"What have you done Lara? What have you done? You've killed them!"

Lara did not respond. Her vision simply closed to black and she collapsed back into her bed.

* * *

"Lara? What's the matter?" A distant, kind voice asked. Her eyes opened but this time there was not darkness. Afternoon sunlight drifted onto her bed. She was in her bedroom in Surrey. She tensed as Winston once again appeared at her bedside. What did he have this time? Paul's digits?

"Lara you were shouting. What's the matter?"

The tension eased slightly. "Winston how long have I been home?"

"Not more than six hours."

"And how long was it between the time we last spoke and my arriving home?"

"About ten hours."

Lara did the calculations in her head. She had a little more than three days left, if her sense of reckoning hadn't been lost while at the hospital. "Three days. That's not much," she mused. _Especially since I have no idea where to start looking for Caruso._

Winston frowned and rose to fill a pitcher of cool water in the bathroom. He returned and placed a soaked washcloth on her forehead. "You're running a fever." His voice was even, flat and emotionless. This seeming indifference Lara could tell was vexation.

"How did you get me out?" A change of subject was needed.

"I didn't. I called an old friend, Major Terrence Lott. I knew if you needed something of dubious legality performed he was the one to call. He knew someone who could alter the hospital's computer records to make it seem as if you were transferred to a different location. When the transfer order came through Terrence and I escorted you out. But the ruse won't last. As soon as they find out you didn't make it to your destination there will be a warrant out for your arrest."

"By that time I'll be out of the country."

"You are not fit to be going anywhere." Winston's tone was severe. "You need rest."

"Winston—," Lara began her defense.

"You can make some calls," Winston interjected. "But for the time present you need to stay put." As if on cue the phone rang. Winston shuffled into the hall. As soon as he was gone Lara tried to sit up. It proved to be much more difficult than she had expected. The movement alerted her to all kinds of soreness in her arms, legs and neck as well as the all-too-familiar throbbing in her head. Her stomach had also developed a feral growl. As gently as possible Lara eased herself out of bed and into the bathroom. She threw open the door of the medicine cabinet so as to avoid looking at herself in its mirror. A few painkillers were tossed back and chased with a glass of water. Painkillers were her panacea; just to have taken some had a placebo effect.

"Lara," called Winston's perturbed voice from the bedroom. "The phone is for you."

"Who is it?"

"He says he'll only identify himself to _you_."

With a raised eyebrow she took the handset from Winston. "Who is this?"

"I'm sorry, I can't tell you over the phone." The voice was familiar but Lara couldn't quite place it. "Can you meet with me tonight?"

"Why should I?" Lara's tone was clipped.

"I have some information about Ryan Caruso."

Lara paused for only a brief moment. "Where do you want to meet?"

* * *

The Grosvenor Lounge in central London's Victoria Thistle hotel was almost filled to capacity. Dusk had set in leaving the large, late-19th century room in an odd half-light cast by the fireplace at the far end. Copies of fine artwork reminiscent of John Constable hung from the walls next to thickly-framed mirrors and gold light fixtures. Red and green velvet chairs intermingled with low tables of dark wood.

As Lara strode into the lounge the feral rumble of her stomach made her wish she'd opted for a change of venue to the French restaurant across the lobby, Chez Gerard. Grilled French veal escalope sounded very appealing. But the more leisurely atmosphere of the lounge was probably what her informant was looking for. She was wearing a simple black evening dress, modest enough to avoid attracting too much attention but flattering enough to give her an edge over this mystery man. Her hair was put up with a few silver pins. If word did get out that she had escaped hopefully the subtle change might throw off the casual observer on the look out for her.

The maitre d' recognized her immediately. "Miss Croft, how nice of you to join us this evening." _So much for disguises,_ Lara thought. "We have a table reserved for you." He guided her to an out-of-the-way, corner table beyond the reach of the firelight. "_Shadows for shadowy conversations." _Was it Lott who had said that? Lara couldn't remember.

A few long minutes passed before the maitre d' returned with the man she assumed was her informant. He was a short, thick fellow with wavy black hair and a slightly olive complexion. His features were a mix of European and Latin. The eyes were light cafe brown but the chin, nose and cheeks were more German.

After the man had likewise sized her up he ordered a bottle of cognac and two ham on rye sandwiches. "You must be starving," the man began congenially as soon as the maitre d' disappeared.

"I don't know how much you know but I'm on something of a schedule so if you'd kindly get to the point I'd be much obliged." Her tone did not match the kindness of her words.

"My name is Daniel Hunter. I write for _The Daily Telegraph_. A few months ago I stumbled onto a very big story." He produced a photocopy of a newspaper clipping from his jacket pocket and slid it across the table to Lara. The title read "Professional Hitman Wages War on Drugs." Encased in the text was a small color picture of three body bags surrounded by London police.

"Groundbreaking journalism Mr. Hunter," Lara replied blithely.

Hunter leaned across the table and lowered his voice considerably. "Ryan Caruso killed those men."

"It seems like he's been doing us all a service." _"Skepticism forces someone to prove their point. They can't help but talk." _That was definitely Lott. It was odd how his teachings came back to her at times like this, times when she was forced to delve into the underworld for something she wanted. Whether it was bribing a corrupt government official or pumping a lowlife for information or finding where someone was hiding, snips of Lott's survivalist catechism would come to her. This tough underworld persona had become more comfortable for Lara to slip into as the years passed. Those who only knew Lara the academic would have been frightened by the facility with which she switched between the two. At the current moment it was even easier because her dip into this twisted, trashy criminal world was not for herself but for two people she loved.

_"There is a place. A dark place. A dark place inside you that you don't look at,"_ A malice-laden voice called from shadowy memory. _I do these things but they do not constitute me, _was Lara's inner rebuttal.

_"We shall see," _came the reply.

Lara winced. Her head began to throb. Abruptly she turned outward, grateful to find the cognac on the table between herself and Hunter. She poured a substantial glass and gunned it down. Hunter's eyes widened.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Lara half-gasped as the fire died in her throat. Slowly the throbbing subsided. Lara made a mental note not to take so many painkillers so close to drinking. "Please continue." Lara's tone was not as sharp as before.

"It may seem like Ryan Caruso is doing a service to the greater London area but the fact is he's not just some vigilante. He killed several more than those in the pictures. He used those killings to lure out the big fish, the men who lost a lot of money when they couldn't make supply equal demand. When they came out he killed them and seized control of the whole operation. Now he uses it to finance something much more sinister."

"And how did you come to know all this?"

"That is unimportant," Hunter said evenly. The way he spoke those words...

Lara's eyes narrowed to slits. "Now I remember. You were the one who called me on the boat...at just the right time...with all the right information. Tell me, was that just a coincidence?"

Hunter took a gulp of his own cognac before continuing. "No. I called you because I had been following Ryan Caruso's movements ever since I wrote that article. When I found out he had duped you I had to warn you. And now I've contacted you because I'm looking out for myself."

"What do you mean?"

"When I first investigated the trail of the drug murders I found Ryan Caruso. When I followed the trail of Ryan Caruso I found something I had never dreamed of; something that he and a lot of other powerful, dangerous people didn't want me to know. They knew that I knew. The contacts I had used, the questions I'd asked inevitably brought me to their attention, but I wasn't a threat until I blew the whistle. Until I warned you. Now they can't afford to let me live. That's why I've contacted you now. Because I believe you are the only one who can stop these people."

Between the shadows and the firelight Lara could see fear on Daniel Hunter's face. Outside darkness had fallen completely. "Who are 'these people?'"

"The Knights Templar."

Lara frowned. "You are not very good at telling jokes Mr. Hunter. The Knights Templar have been gone since the early fourteenth century. They were killed off by Papal edict of Clement V. There have been numerous myths surrounding their disappearance but what _you're _suggesting—"

"Is the truth." Hunter interjected. "The Knights Templar didn't die out. They went underground. The Knights Templar in Portugal just changed their name to Knights of Christ to avoid the purges. They then secreted themselves around the world by way of Portuguese trade ships. Since then they've been growing in controlled cells worldwide in the strictest of secrecy while hiding in plain sight at the same time. They live almost normal lives. They are employed by the world's most powerful intelligence agencies and militaries; jobs that require secrecy so that no one looks to the real secret they're hiding. Once trained, they return to the private sector and pool their resources. With the advent of modern telecommunications they have been able to unite all the cells in a warped, fanatical crusade to end all evil. But what they're doing is creating more."

Lara's jaw tensed and a fire lit in her eyes. "I don't have time to waste with the conspiracy theory ramblings of a paranoid journalist. Take your tabloid rubbish to someone with less sense and more time to kill. Excuse me." She stood and brushed past Hunter and many other seated patrons in the crowed lounge. Hopefully no one noticed the frustrated tears escaping. She was halfway across the lobby when a hand wrapped around her forearm.

"Miss Croft wait. I have proof."

"Take your hand off me," Lara seethed through her teeth.

"Tell me you recognize this." Daniel Hunter produced a small golden crucifix on a slender chain. Lara turned reluctantly and took the necklace from him. On the back of the crucifix there was a small seal inscribed with the words 'Militie Templi Salmo' around the image of a mosque.

"This is either a Templar cross or a fabulous fake. The words refer to the militia of the Temple of Solomon. The mosque in the middle is Al Aksa mosque, the earliest headquarters of the Order." Lara was unmoved.

"Now think," Hunter urged. "Have you seen this cross before?"

Lara shrugged. "Perhaps in a museum..." Her tired, stressed mind roamed around the recesses of memory. Wait. She had seen it. But not in a museum. "Ryan Caruso had this same cross. Where did you find it?"

"A Templar gave it to me. One who wanted out," Hunter whispered. "And now you need to use it to stop them." He clasped her hand and folded her fingers over the crucifix. "Find the Templars, find Ryan Caruso. They haven't gone far from their roots." Hunter looked over her shoulder into the lounge where the maitre d' was talking animatedly into his phone and casting a nervous glance at Lara. "I have to go now. I'll be in touch."

Instead of leaving from the front of the hotel he made his way towards the back. Lara watched him go feeling more than a little lost and confused. As she turned to catch a cab back home she saw what had animated the matire d'. Behind the hotel's bar was a large flatscreen TV playing the news. Above the banner of 'Breaking News' was her picture. In the dark street outside the Victoria Thistle's opulent doors Lara could see flashing lights approaching.


	8. The Hunt

Lara fought to keep her pace steady. A running target would attract too much attention, but then a walking target would be questioned, delayed and caught. The frenzied march of her thoughts did not make the swift amble she was attempting any easier. As she made her way to the rear of the hotel past rows of nondescript rooms her mind churned like a loose train but every attempt to assemble facts was derailed by glaring thoughts of escape. The result was a never-ending train wreck in her head. _Was he telling the truth? What might his motive be? Could I trust him? Can I afford not to? _

Finely-tuned ears picked up the sounds of commotion in the lobby. _There must be scores of police._ Lara had a significant head start but no doubt the maitre d' had given away her direction of egress. She would have to hide; running was out of the question, especially in a dress and heels. _Why do I even wear the stupid things? _

Too wrapped up in her own thoughts Lara did not notice the abrupt end of the corridor. The only way out was the way she had come and that way was swarming with police by now. Lara's heart began to pound. This benign hotel corridor had become as a tomb to her, unassumingly deadly. Only this time it was not her death at the hands of competitors or fanatics or wild animals at stake, it was the death of two of her friends.

Lara was startled by a door opening across the hall. A maid walked out and pulled some cleaning supplies from a large gray plastic cart. She looked at Lara and Lara pretended to be disinterested. Lara stared at the door in front of her as if it was about to open and reveal someone expecting her. The maid turned back to her work, sliding a magnetic passcard into the next door in the hall. Just as in a tomb Lara saw her opening and took it instinctively. Before the door could close completely she placed her foot in front of the jamb. Once she heard the maid making the bed Lara quietly eased open the door and stepped inside. Timing now was critical, the police wouldn't be too far behind. From the small anteroom adjoining the bathroom she picked up a metal ice bucket. She held it firmly, reflexively feeling its weight and balance. _"You always have weapons." --Lott._

Seamlessly Lara came in behind the unsuspecting maid and crashed the bucket against her right temple. The woman crumpled as if her legs had been swept out from under her. "I'm truly sorry," Lara said as she eased the woman onto the bed. She stripped the uniform from the unconscious woman and slipped out of her black evening gown. She could hear footsteps in the hall, some cautious, some not so cautious. Her breaths came quick and shallow as her heart leaped into her throat. This was going to be the performance of a lifetime.

With tenuous calm Lara rolled the maid under the covers of the half-made bed, careful to lay the right side of her head against the pillow. She slipped into the gray and white striped uniform and took as much care as possible in the dwindling seconds to hide her chestnut tresses under the maid's bonnet. Solid white sneakers replaced black heels and the heels and dress were swept under the bed. As a final necessary precaution Lara extinguished the lights. Just seconds later the room's door unlocked and opened. Lara took a deep breath. _Here we go._

The light from the corridor highlighted the neon green police vest of the man standing in the doorway. Lara stepped forward, careful to remain out of the stream of light but close enough not to merit the lights being turned on. Her uniform and not her face would be the most obvious thing to the officer. As he began to speak Lara placed her index finger vertically over her lips while uttering a half-gentle "shh!"

She motioned with an arm towards the bed and the sleeping woman. "Can you imagine?" Lara carefully eliminated the refined cadence of her voice and swapped it for a more working-class tone. _I am Lott's chameleon. _"She calls for turn-down service and before I can get here she's in bed asleep." Then as an afterthought. "What is the matter sir?"

The man was slightly startled by the frank manner of this hotel employee. "Have you seen anything suspicious in the past few minutes?"

"No sir."

"Have you seen this woman?" The officer produced a photocopy of her picture. Lara's breath froze. She would have sworn the officer could hear her heartbeat as it pounded in her own ears.

"No sir." Lara fought for control. Her body began to tremble. The moment stretched on interminably. Lara was quite certain she would pass out before the policeman left.

"Alright," he placed the photocopy in her momentarily stable hands. "If you see her alert us immediately." He turned back into the corridor and left. A tremulous breath rushed out of Lara; her legs felt like they would buckle. She leaned against the wall for a moment to steady herself. But she could not rest for long, time was still against her and the charade was not yet complete.

Lara walked purposefully into the hall and steered the gray cleaning cart to the next room in the corridor. Half a dozen more officers were questioning other guests all with that same photocopy picture of her. _Steady, steady,_ Lara reminded herself as she neared the door. She slid the magnetic passcard and let herself in, careful to take some cleaning supplies with her. Fortunately, the room was occupied but devoid of guests. She bolted the door behind her and rifled through the closet space. Her hands alighted on a dark green dress about her size. She swapped it for the maid's uniform and found some matching flats. They were a little tight on her feet but they would have to do. After a quick glance out into the dark street Lara eased through the window and moved, again fighting for a steady pace, away from the hotel. There were a dozen police cars up and down the street with lights twirling and flashing like a kind of carnival attraction.

About a block away Lara found a disinterested taxi driver she assumed was safe. "Where to?" he asked as she climbed in.

Lara checked her watch. "The British Museum." Trusting Daniel Hunter or not Lara needed something to go on. Scarcely more than two days remained before she would get fingers in the mail.

_I'm coming James._

_

* * *

_

Darkness enveloped the section of offices in the British Museum's administrative area. One of the benefits of being a distinguished professor's research assistant for half a decade was the ability to cut a path to that professor's office even if blindfolded, as well as the knowledge of what doors remained unlocked after hours. Lara came to Thomas Woodson's door and knocked twice before entering. A shaft of sad pale light wafted into the corridor only to be shut off by the closing of the door.

"I received your message," the elder Dr. Woodson said preemptively. "I suppose you can afford to pay the legal expenses of a decent solicitor when I'm implicated in this nasty business," he added with a half-hearted chuckle. He was weary, physically and emotionally. Lara could see that James' capture was as much a strain on him as it was on her. _Well, almost._ But the humor alluded to a perennial vibrancy in Thomas; she could count with him now.

"Do you have any leads?" Lara queried hopefully.

"I've only just begun," Thomas sighed and gestured to the piles of books on his desk and worktable. "But with you here perhaps the work will go faster. You always were one of my brightest researchers. I'll fix us some tea."

As Thomas slipped out into the hall Lara began to flip through the texts. Some were ancient and some relatively new. They ranged in sizes from massive tomes to smaller handbooks. The scope and breadth of these texts in and of itself was daunting. Lara prided herself on having knowledge a mile wide and an inch deep—until she researched something—but admittedly her knowledge on the Knights Templar was too limited to even know where to begin. She picked up one of the smaller comprehensive histories and began to thumb through it.

"What have you found?" Thomas asked as he set the tea tray gently within towers of tomes on his desk.

"Not much," Lara frowned. "In their prime the Templars had establishments from Jerusalem to Portugal. Hundreds of monasteries, hospices, banks. I wouldn't know where to begin looking for Ryan Caruso. And that's assuming he's even near one of these places. Most of them don't exist anymore, or at least not in their original state."

"Didn't that chap give you any clues?"

"Just this." Lara pulled the crucifix from off her neck where she'd had the prudence to put it during her escape.

"That doesn't give us much to go on." Thomas sipped his tea and turned the small golden emblem over in his weathered hand. After the perfunctory tea had been drunk the two weary scholars turned to the books. Minutes passed into hours as the night wore on. Craving sleep yet unable to take it Lara forced open yet another book with painfully small printing. As she scanned the text half-heartedly her head began to ache. Lara knew what it was before it came to full force. She slumped into a chair and viced her head with both hands. _Not now. Please, not now._

"Tommy, painkillers," she gasped.

"What?" He looked up from his own studies. "Lara you are white as a ghost!"

"Painkillers." she more mouthed the word than said it. Her breathing became labored and sweat began to glisten on her saturnine flesh. Deep inside she knew the cause of this headache was not biological but painkillers would at least grant a superficial comfort.

"I'll find some." Thomas leaped from his chair and flew from the room. Lara writhed trying to find some comfortable position where the pain was not so great. None such place could be found. She stood and attempted to walk it off but ended up on her knees next to Woodson's bookcase. What seemed like an eternity passed before Thomas returned.

"Here, take these," he thrust the pills into her hand and held a bottle of water for her to drink from. Lara feebly swallowed the painkillers and with the assistance of her old professor washed them down. She couldn't help but feel a twinge of frustration at being so infant-like creep past the pain. Slowly, miraculously, the pain subsided.

"You are not well," Thomas chided. But she could sense in his voice more concern than anger.

"Winston already gave me that lecture don't you start into me." Lara got to her feet. On the bookcase directly in front of her was a picture of James, herself, Thomas and Winston at their graduation from Oxford. Lara pursed her lips. Her gaze fixed on the small framed photograph as the event replayed in her mind.

"He always loved you. You know that don't you?" Thomas broke in.

"Then why did he leave?" Lara turned to face him. The hurt in her eyes was deep yet fresh. She shuffled to one of the office's many chairs and slumped into it, utterly spent in every conceivable way.

Woodson came and sat beside her. "Love is a fickle thing," he sighed. "He met Evelyn on a project just after you two graduated." Lara cringed at the mention of that name: Evelyn. "He fell for the girl in a most peculiar way. Perhaps what moved him most was that she was so unattainable. You know that James has always enjoyed the more hard-fought way. But she left him after a while and by then you had moved on."

"But I never moved on," Lara whispered. "I tried to convince myself that I had but...it's no use. I was too proud to let him back into my life. Or perhaps I was just afraid that he'd find some way to hurt me again, some way only he could."

The next few minutes passed in silence. Nothing more needed to be said. Lara struggled to tear her thoughts from James. The past was in the past. All she could do was deal with the present. She focused her thoughts on the terrified, Latino-German face of Daniel Hunter. She replayed their conversation. Something, some clue must have been given, some way...

"They haven't gone far from their roots," Lara muttered.

"What was that?"

Realization dawned. "They haven't gone far from their roots. Hunter said that just after he told me to find the Knights Templar. I'm not sure what it means, but I think it's a lead."

"'Roots' as in Jerusalem?"

"Maybe. Or perhaps France. I don't know."

"You said he mentioned that the Templars had secreted themselves across the known world by way of Portuguese trade ships. Is it possible that there was a headquarters in Portugal?"

"A kind of staging area before they went into hiding? You think the 'roots' he was referring to has to do not with the roots of the Order we know but the roots of this new Order."

"This new incarnation yes," Woodson smiled. Lara's own lips curled into something of a smile. It was just like the old days. Sooner or later they had a breakthrough and normally it was when they were at the end of their rope. They began to rifle through the books now searching for any mention of a Templar nexus in Portugal.

"What about this?" Lara thrust a book on top of the one Woodson was reading. "City of Tomar. On the hill there is a Templar—and later on Knights of Christ—monastery and castle: the Convent of Christ."

"Ah, I've heard of that. Supposedly the stonework is quite remarkable. But there's one problem. It's a tourist attraction. It would be impossible to hide a modern Templar hub there."

"Yes, but look at this." Lara produced another book. A rather heavy and frail leatherbound text written in Latin. "This refers to some chambers that were part of the original monastery but were then sealed off when the outer castle walls were built to prevent _subterranean_ attack."

"An escape hatch. Or maybe a secret entrance?" Woodson pointed at the page careful not to touch it's fragile surface. "What's that there in the margin?"

"I'm not sure."

Thomas pulled a magnifying glass from a nearby stack of books. "It's quite far gone. Something about a pagan tomb to the west? That's a rather odd reference. What do you make of it Lara?"

"I'll know when I get there," Lara said as she hastily jotted down some notes on a nearby pad.

"You're not leaving now are you?" Again the concern in his voice.

_I must look quite far gone myself,_ Lara thought wryly. She looked at her watch. Less than two days remained for her to meet Shark Man's deadline. "I have to go _tonight_. Please, don't tell anyone—"

"You were never here," Thomas interjected. "I awoke in the middle of the night with a sudden fascination for all things Templar." He smiled and hugged Lara. With a kiss on her forehead he sent her out into the darkness from which she had come.

* * *

Winston shambled along the dim halls of Croft Manor convinced that his ears were playing tricks on him. To his dismay they were not. As he arrived in the spacious front entry he could see a light burning in Lady Croft's suite and he could hear the unmistakable sounds of packing. It was a sound whose displeasure did not lessen over the years. The vexation it caused him was particularly acute tonight. _My little Lara, this has gone too far. You need rest._

He eased up the stairs, coaxing tired uncooperative limbs to move quietly. As he arrived in the doorway he saw two dismal sights. There was a large duffle bag open on the bed and Lara's gun safe was open. "I saw the news," he began. Lara did not skip a beat. Winston guessed she'd probably heard him on the creaky, 19th century staircase. _Then her hearing has always been more acute._

"Anything interesting?" Lara replied without looking up from her preparations.

"Where are you going?"

"Sunny Portugal," Lara looked up and half-smiled.

"It's not a vacation."

"No." Two boxes of .40 ammunition landed in the duffle bag.

"Don't go Lara. You're not well."

"You know something?" Lara paused in her packing and looked up. "These past weeks have been a living hell for me. I wouldn't be surprised if I am not well. Perhaps I'm even going insane, but if I am the cure for my insanity is not here in London or anywhere else but where I am going. And if there is no cure then I am going to do something useful while I have a shred of sanity left."

There was a pause as the tension between the two evaporated. Winston looked at her in the eyes long and hard. "You're not taking a commercial flight."

Lara began to toss clothing disinterestedly into the bag. "I was going to call Lott, see if he had a pilot friend with a small plane or something."

Winston crossed to her side of the bed and began to fold the clothing she was tossing into the bag. "Don't use the house phone. It's been tapped. Use a pay phone in town. Do you want something to eat before you leave? I have some corned beef hash in the icebox I could warm up."

Lara smiled faintly, sincerely. "That would be nice." Winston kissed her on the cheek and shambled off to the kitchen downstairs. Lara crossed the room to her gun safe with a temporary levity. From it she produced an Uzi submachine gun and a box of 9mm ammo for it. It was a fearsome yet compact weapon with a laser sight slung under the barrel and a long silencer. From a different shelf she took a snub-nosed .38 revolver and a box of shells for it. It was another compact yet deadly weapon, the kind she preferred to stick in an ankle holster. Lastly she removed an old gun belt and the first pistols she had modified for two-handed use. They were H&K USP .40s like her newer weapons but these were chrome-plated; symbols of a time when she had been more brash and seemingly invincible. Lara hoped they would be a good omen for her journey.

Lara placed all four weapons and their ammunition in the duffle and zipped it shut. _This time I won't be caught off guard,_ Lara thought as she slung the duffle over her shoulder. _This time I'm prepared._


	9. Retribution

The train rolled through the Portuguese Ribatejo with only a grinding murmur. Through the window Lara could see elegant pines coming down to the banks of a blue-gray river that ran a short distance from the tracks. Low gray clouds coated the sky with a sullen glare, the kind that threatens rain and throws even a noonday sun into oblivion while the rest of the world holds its breath in the dark.

A small jolt from the tracks below brought the suffocating pain Lara had been trying to forget for the past two hours to the front of her consciousness. She shot her hand down to the duffle bag between her feet and fished out some pills from her ubiquitous supply of painkillers. She took them dry not willing to wait for water. The pains were constant now, pills only granted her minutes of comfort but they were minutes she would need to finish her current crusade. Hopefully they were not bought at too great a cost to her health. As the drugs moved into her system she took a moment to stretch out her arms and legs. She'd been on the move almost constantly for the past twenty four hours and there had been no chance to rest and recharge. Sleep was out of the question; just getting past the insomnia and the stress was so much work and all of it just to immerse herself in more nightmares. But then again it was all a nightmare now wasn't it?

With a groan and a spurt the train eased into the station at Tomar. Light rain had begun to fall forcing the people waiting on the platform to unfurl umbrellas for their loved ones debarking the train. In spite of the pain and fatigue Lara couldn't help but enjoy the beauty of the little city as she stepped onto the worn paving stones of the platform. The older part of town sat ensconced in the base of a little river valley while newer apartment buildings rose off to her right. On the other ridge to her left sat the convent; more a castle than a convent really. In the mid 12th century it had been built to fend off attacks from Moorish caliphs Lara recalled from the bits of reading she'd managed during the trip.

The oppressive cloud cover forced Lara to pull Shark Man's cell phone from her pocket in order to check the time. It was almost one in the afternoon. _Less than two days to meet the deadline._ Lara turned out the lethal arithmetic with an ease that disgusted her. _I shouldn't have to count down their days. Who am I to play God with my friends' lives?_ Not for the first time Lara contemplated an early retirement.

With renewed determination Lara hoisted the duffle onto her back and made off for the Convent. Lara wrapped her black overcoat tightly around her as the cold rain began to fall more heavily. Her chestnut tresses began to fall into her face as they filled with water. Underneath her boots water had begun to collect in little puddles on the white cobblestone sidewalks . Spaced evenly in the walks were Templar crosses, their black stone inlays contrasting with the pale worn white. The storm had now all but obscured the Convent above her as she began to climb. About halfway up a large tour bus sped past Lara casting a cold spray on her face and neck. "Tourists," she grumbled. The Christmas holidays were little more than a week away but that was still too far off to have so many vacationers around.

Vacationers. Tourists. They were coming to see the castle of an order of knights that had been extinct for almost six centuries. Could this really be the place, the nexus of a reincarnation of that same order? Lara shuddered. No. It had to be here. It had to be. She pulled some scraps of notepaper from her coat pocket. Tomar—Pagan tomb—West. _What does it mean?_ Her methodical mind churned over these pieces looking for a place to fit them. This assembly process was taxing her more than any other she could remember. Lara trudged upward.

As the road she walked neared the top it passed a little church of dull, yellow-pink stone. It was sat on a small terrace on the western slope of the castle hill. "West," Lara whispered. But there proudly on the top of the pediment was the cross, this was no pagan tomb. Yet instinct propelled her forward. The doors were locked and there was no mention of when it might be open.

"I'm already a highly-pursued criminal. What's breaking and entering?" Lara thought wryly. Grateful that the rain kept any potential tattletales away Lara stepped back and crashed her foot into the left door just above the handle. It shuddered but did not give way. She hit it again. Nothing. A third time and the door gave way. Once inside she saw the reason for her difficulty. A wooden beam had been placed over the doors and was padlocked to brackets on either wall. "I suppose this place isn't for tourists," Lara mused and the thought heartened her. The chapel was even smaller inside. There were no pews just an altar by the understated apse and four small sarcophagi, two against each wall. The air was clean and dry, not the dead, musty kind of air Lara was expecting for an off-limits building like this one. No cobwebs, not even dust. Over the sarcophagi were short inscriptions in Old Latin. Lara scanned them for clues. There was nothing out of the ordinary. Then again that was assuming there was anything out of the ordinary in the first place. There could be a cipher, a code she didn't have or know, or—and this thought put ice into her stomach—nothing at all.

Hope began to fail as Lara scanned through the inscription of the last sarcophagus. As she turned to leave seven characters, thinly carved and scarcely visible, caught her eye: N F F N S N C.

Lara smiled as the lectures from Early Christian history flooded back to her. "_Non fui, fui, non sum, non curo_. Where I went I know not nor do I care." It was a common inscription for those pagans who did not believe in the Christian concept of afterlife. This was the pagan tomb! Lara got down on all fours and looked for cracks or openings she could exploit. Her hands caressed every surface feverishly, hope in them once again.

No crack, no keyhole. With a shove Lara removed the lid. Inside was that dead musty air she had been expecting when she entered the church and along with it a rusted sword blade, tatters of cloth and some bones. "So sorry," Lara muttered as she moved the contents around hoping to find an opening. There was none. Lara rapped her knuckles hard on the stone bottom. There was a faint hollow sound. Lara smiled again. Using the wall behind the sarcophagus as a brace she pushed at the bottom corner of the stone box with her legs. It gave way ever so slightly. Lara positioned herself lower and with a grunt dislodged the sarcophagus a couple feet. Cool damp air rushed up to greet her from the uncovered hole. A few shoves later there was a three foot by six foot opening. Small worn stairs descended into the dank dark.

Lara's attention temporarily shifted to the duffle bag. Skilled hands withdrew the gun belt with its twin chrome-plated H&K .40s and strapped it on over her jeans. The snub-nosed .38 revolver she attached to her right ankle. She opted to leave the Uzi; she needed Ryan Caruso alive and it was definitely not the most careful negotiation tool in her arsenal. Her black overcoat was tossed in alongside the submachine gun. It was cool in the tunnel but right now she needed stealth and maneuverability. Her long-sleeved, gray cotton top would have to suffice. Last of all Lara donned her worn rucksack and tossed flares and notes inside.

To Lara's surprise the stairs only descended about twelve feet. At the bottom she cracked a flare and tossed it a few feet forward. The tunnel itself was barely six feet tall and half that in width. The walls were smooth and joined at the top in a barrel vault. This was definitely an escape route. Lara walked carefully and quietly forward. Just because it was a commonly used path didn't mean it wasn't rigged. After a few minutes of slow progress the flare spat and guttered out. Lara lit another and continued on quicker. The cool wind she had felt coming from the tunnel at the entrance was warmer now. It whistled and hissed by her as she walked. _Hissing. Gas!_ Lara stopped dead and hurled the flare forward. The passage in front of her ignited as successive gas jets coming from the walls caught fire. The fireball rushed toward her. Lara spun and ran back down the tunnel. She could smell the fuel that would ignite around her within the next few seconds. After fifty meters she could feel the heat against the back of her neck. Realizing she would not make it to the entrance she threw herself to the ground. The fireball passed above her and within moments was gone. The walls popped and crackled; steam rose from Lara's rain-soaked tresses.

_Whoever used this passage would have to know it well enough to travel it in the dark. _She couldn't help but marvel at the cruel brilliancy of its construction. They must have shunted natural gas from a pocket deep in the hill to this tunnel. Already the passage was filling again. Lara picked up her pace. Redundancy in old security systems was not unusual but she had to take her chances. Passing out from gas inhalation was not an end she could afford right now, not that any were ever particularly affordable.

After several minutes of half jogging half walking Lara felt the walls around her melt away as the passage opened up. She groped around for a point of reference. She found a wall and followed it until she came to not one but two passages, one going slightly up and the other slightly down. Lara chose the former and walk-jogged along it. After what seemed like an eternity—Lara's nerves sizzling the entire time with that tomb raider edge that kept her alive all those years—the corridor bent sharply to the right and ended in a set of stairs like the ones she had first encountered. Still there was no light and Lara dared not risk a flare. Carefully she climbed to the top. Her head and hands connected with cold rock. _The ceiling._ _A stairway to nowhere. Maybe the other passage…wait._ There were grooves in the stone. Handholds! She tugged at them and the stone came free. A splinter of light dropped into the tunnel. More grunts and tugs and the lid was off. Lara emerged from the tunnel both pistols drawn, her body and mind set on that tomb raider edge.

Lara found herself at the end of a tall and narrow corridor that stretched on for about fifty meters. At the far end she could see a narrow shaft of light mingling with the flames of candelabras as it passed a door that was slightly ajar. Her weapons shimmered as she walked quietly to the door and peered through the crack. The room on the far side was immense, a drum fifteen feet tall and eighty in diameter. It was supported by eight, massive columns in the center of the room. Within the columns was an altar. What—or rather, who—Lara saw next to the altar filled her with a satisfaction that was as sickening as it was sweet. Even from the depths of the underworld she brought with her—the underworld that had gotten her out of state custody, pumped a terrified man for information, and evaded capture by police—she could see how twisted this moment was. She refused to play God with her friends' lives but she was about play God with this man's.

The door creaked when Lara pushed against it just as she knew it would. Ryan Caruso would hear the noise and turn, perhaps go for the Glock .40 he carried, but it would be too late. The cat had stalked her prey and now for the pounce. But he did not turn; he did not even acknowledge her presence with a twitch of some reflex. She walked forward until she was within the columns, merely ten feet from where Caruso knelt. Thirty seconds passed. Lara grew impatient and clicked back the hammers on her pistols simultaneously.

"I hope you haven't forgotten that not too long ago I had a shot that I didn't take," Ryan said quietly. He did not move so much as an inch.

"You wasted an opportunity," Lara replied.

"I didn't think so."

Lara frowned at his frankness. "I want the Idol."

"Yeah," Ryan sighed. Placing his hands on the altar for support he rose to his feet, crossed himself and turned.

"I thought you weren't religious."

"You have to have a religion for that."

"So the Knights Templar answer to no ecclesiastic authority?" Lara asked caustically.

"Unfortunately no. Not even God." As he spoke Lara could see that same sad gleam in his steel blue eyes. Her commitment to using him as a bargaining chip suddenly wavered. The stress and pain coupled with her guilt leaving her at once void and bursting. She clenched her jaw, blinked a few times and tightened her grip on the pistols.

"The Idol. Where is it?" Lara choked the words.

"Do you even know what it is?" Ryan asked; his voice retained that same quiet, resigned calm.

"That's not my concern. My concern is for my friends."

Ryan paused. "So you're working for Carlos now."

"Who?"

"Carlos Vicente. He leads the Shadow Kingdom."

"Shadow Kingdom?"

"How much do you know already?"

"I know enough, now where is it?" Lara bit her lower lip to keep it from trembling.

"Do you think it was just some prank when those shamans put the Idol in Porto Seguro? That Idol was designed to go right to Lisbon, to the heart of the world's then-superpower. It was designed to control the world's most powerful rulers. The Shadow Kingdom didn't get killed off, they went underground. God sunk the Idol to the depths but they stayed and waited, waited for someone like you. And because of you they'll get what they want."

"Spare me your old wives' tales," Lara spat. "Where is the Idol? I need it now."

"What is Carlos' deal with you? The Idol for your friends? You can't believe him." Ryan took a step forward. Lara shot once. The blast glanced of the room's cavernous walls causing Lara to start slightly. She caught herself in the act and mentally scolded herself for such a show of weakness. The color drained from Ryan's face.

"The next one won't miss." Lara struggled for calm.

"The Idol's over there," Ryan gestured to a metal case under a cot by the far wall. Keeping her pistols trained on him Lara backed over to the case. She knelt down and opened it. Instantly the pain resumed. Lara felt noxious; her mouth began to water and her vision clouded over. She stumbled away, her pistols clattering to the floor. Both hands clutched her head as she crawled away trembling.

"Do you believe the old wives' tales now?" Ryan was standing over her, pistol in hand.

"What's happening to me?" Lara whispered.

"The same thing that will happen to more people if you give that thing to Carlos. That's something you should consider before you run off to trade it for just two lives you may or may not get in return."

"I don't expect you to understand the value of a friend," Lara countered quietly but intensely as she pulled herself to a kneeling position. One hand trailed back to her right ankle where the .38 revolver was hidden.

"Don't lecture me on the value of friendship Lady Croft," Ryan growled. "I've spent my whole life sacrificing people I love and their faces visit me every time I close my eyes. Don't think it's easy for me."

Lara drew the revolver and pointed it squarely at his chest. "Then I hope you understand why I'm through sacrificing. I can't stand it anymore. Now, drop the gun and pick up the case. You are going to deliver it for me." Lara got to her feet slowly, her gaze shifting between Ryan's gun and his sad blue eyes.

"Are you going to hold that gun to my head the whole way?" He made no move to pick up the case.

"If I have to," Lara said as she carefully stooped to recover and holster her twin pistols.

"Then there's something I think you should read before we go."

"Pick up the case!" Lara shouted. Her voice surprised her. It seemed foreign, icy.

"I'll pick it up but you won't make it very far," Ryan said calmly.

"Stop it! Stop your games!" Lara's head began to pound again. Her ears rang, her vision blurred. A stomach full of ice. Agony. Fear. _"I've been acquainting myself with your dark place. That dark place you hardly know. And that is what gives me license to be your teacher. Don't fear the darkness Lara. Embrace it. For what you are least willing to have, that is what you are. Come, I've been waiting for you."_

"No, no, stop it," Lara cried. She raised the revolver to her head.

Ryan aimed and fired.

She felt a trickle of blood at her neck. Fire and ice. And then, blackness.

* * *

A/N: Thanks to IronHound and OveractiveImaginer for your reviews.


	10. Dream Diver

Blackness.

Complete but not without presence.

Shapes in blackness, who? What? _Where am I?_

"Who's there?" A far off voice. Distant but distinct. Her own.

"It's Ryan." Another far off voice. From the direction of the voice a shape emerged. The American, all in black. Complete black.

"Where are we?" Her voice was not so distant now.

"This is the world of your mind."

"If this is my mind what are you doing here?"

"I'm not really here. No mind can comprehend two consciousnesses, at least not completely. That truth is a fundamental part of what is happening to you now."

A slight laugh. "Really? And what is that?"

"Demonic possession." The diagnosis was deadpan.

"Possession." The word drifted into the nothingness. Time ground on as she waited, wondering if the word would ever glance off something in the void and return to her. Perhaps the echo would make more sense than that disconnected voice which had uttered the word. No echo. Nothing.

"When you tried to take the Idol one of the demons bound to it projected itself onto you. Now it is breaking you down, squeezing you out, making room for itself to take full control. It has been a one-sided war until now."

"What do you mean one-sided?" Lara was slightly insulted, she was never one to take things sitting down.

"You've avoided this place for so long," Ryan gestured vaguely to the surrounding void. "You haven't been where the fight is taking place."

"So where do I need to go to fight?"

"That's a question for you to answer. This is your mind, I'm just an observer."

"Can I get rid of you then?"

"If you want to."

"Hmm." Lara mused. She soon became aware of her consciousness becoming embodied. Kinesthetically she could sense her existence in this world. Other things in the blackness forced themselves on her mind. Distant light, shapes, sound...tall, graceful Lombardy poplars. A shadow in the distance. "We're at my home."

She and Ryan were standing at the back of the grounds by the spot where her mother and father had taken that old portrait. The sky was gray, just as it had been on that day. Lara could see that she too was wearing all black. "Why are we here?" Ryan asked.

"I don't know."

"Is the demon here?"

"How should I know?" Lara's jaw clenched.

"This is your world, take control of it," Ryan chided gently. With a rush they were in the front hall of the manor. Winston was there. He turned sensing Lara's presence but as he approached she could tell he was not aware of Ryan, or even her sudden appearance. His face was creased with worry, his mouth turned in a regretful arc.

"Post came for you Lara," He handed her a letter and immediately turned to leave. Lara looked at the return address. The writing betrayed the sender before she read the name: James. Her heart caught in her throat.

"What is it?" Ryan asked.

"This is a memory," Lara whispered. "I remember this day. This is the letter he wrote me breaking off the engagement. He told me about Evelyn and he tried to say... he tried to say he was sorry."

"And what happens after?"

"I thought about flying out to Syria and getting him back. I even packed a suitcase with my pistols in it. If he wouldn't have me back I would have threatened to kill her right there...but I was afraid to see him again, afraid to have him see me weak, afraid to make him sad, worst of all, afraid to see him happy with someone else. God, how I loved him. But I was just a girl then. We were both children really. We didn't know what we wanted."

"And you spent the rest of the day shooting bottles of wine in the yard. You liked the way the glass shattered and the liquid spilled everywhere. That night you cried instead of sleeping."

Lara turned sharply to him. "How did you know that?"

"Two consciousnesses can't share the same mind completely but bits and pieces do overlap. During this process common ground can get entangled. It's hard to explain."

"What you mean to say is that you've experienced something similar. Common ground."

Ryan hesitated. "If that helps you to understand you could look at it that way." A pause. "What now?"

"I don't know. I don't even know what I'm looking for."

"The demon."

"Right...the demon in my mind." _"I've been acquainting myself with your dark place. That dark place you hardly know." _Behind her Lara sensed something dart into the main hall. A distant shadow. Her hands dropped instinctively to her hips. "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"Where are my guns?" Lara muttered as she walked toward the main hall. Her insides were buzzing, everything on edge. Her stomach twisted into a series of knots. Step. Step. Step. As she rounded the corner into the main hall her house vanished.

Void.

"Where are we?"

"Take control Lara."

"I thought I was."

"Something led you here. Why?"

Lara squinted her eyes. It was a graveyard. She looked at some of the names on the headstones. She didn't recognize them. One at the end of the row—a large white marble stone with and angel engraved in it—caught her attention. She looked at the name and immediately turned away. She felt like vomiting.

"What is it?"

"I killed that man," she whispered. She cupped her mouth with one hand. "I... killed...all these people." As she walked through the rows of stones the names took on a new clarity. The cold black lettering leaped out like white hot flame onto her mind. She tried to force her mind to let them leave, she didn't want anyone to see this place, especially not Ryan Caruso. But her mind forced her down the rows. A contract killer here, a henchman there, a thief, a competitor. One row, two rows...some had been accidents, some had been self-defense, some had been left to die...

Lara came to the third row and the names lost meaning. She saw Ryan kneeling by a small black headstone at the end. He looked up at her with those sad blue eyes. "Not all. The rest are mine." She looked out over the rest of the cemetery. Scores of headstones she had not noticed before greeted her. Ryan Caruso's killing field made her two rows of stones look paltry by comparison. As she looked back into his eyes she began to sense the pain behind them. It was still elusive, but she sensed it as if it were hers. She wondered if he felt the same desire to hide this place as she had felt moments before. She felt he did but that at the same time he wanted it to be seen.

"Why did I bring us here?"

"You tried to follow the demon. Maybe he's somewhere near." Ryan said as he rose from his place by the headstone.

"Maybe. Let's have a look around." Ryan nodded slightly and started off towards an edge of the graveyard. Lara started to follow but stopped by the small black headstone where Ryan had been kneeling. "Natalie Caruso. Beloved wife." Lara felt inexplicable tears welling in her eyes. Her stomach tightened. Her heart caught in her throat.

A figure moved behind the stone. "Are we looking around or not?" Ryan's voice was terse.

Lara screwed her eyes shut and passed her sleeve over her eyes before she stood. _Damn tears. I want to be strong. Strong like Daddy._ With that thought the cemetery melted away. Out of the blackness rushed a new scene. The confines of a small luxury jet; soft white tones framed by faux mahogany wood. Expensive cologne..._Daddy._

"Oh no."

"Where are we?" Ryan asked.

"This plane crashed. My parents were killed." Even as she spoke flames sprouted on the wing. The plane jerked into a fatal spin. The three passengers—mother, father, daughter—were thrown to the floor. Lara looked at her younger self, reaching for her parents, unable to reach them until her mother managed to place a life jacket around Lara's neck. It was that life jacket that had kept her afloat for twelve hours until help arrived. If only her parents had put theirs on first...

Lara's eyes began to cloud over just as they had in the cemetery. And again just as in the cemetery she was unable to leave the scene before her. She could not even move, only watch.

The ocean rushed up to meet them. Spin, fire and roar were replaced by blackness as water engulfed the plane. The fuselage groaned and buckled. The windows cracked. With a shrieking sigh the plane split. But water did not pour in, just blackness. Lara found herself in a wasteland. Two figures materialized.

"Daddy, Mommy," Lara gasped. _Can it be? They're alive?_ Daddy stretched out his arms.

"Little Lara..." He whispered. She ran forward into his embrace. Mommy wrapped them both in her arms.

"We're both so...disappointed in you," Daddy said.

"We gave you life and you have spent it in death and loss," Mommy frowned.

"What?" Lara looked up startled. "What do you...?"

"I can't think of someone weaker," Daddy sighed. "You just let James Woodson walk all over you."

"And then when you realized you loved him," Mommy chided. "You didn't have the strength to get him back. And now he's dead. He and Paul are dead. Because of you."

"That's not...that's not true," Lara gasped. She sank to her knees, sobs racking her body.

A hand gripped her shoulder. "Lara! Find control! This is not real!" It was Ryan. "Those are not your parents. They're dead. This is the demon. Think. Control."

Lara looked up at him and then to her parents. They smiled sadly at her. Sad, disappointed smiles. She tensed and then stood. "How do I get rid of it?"

"This is your mind," Ryan counseled. "You find the way."

Lara's hands dropped to her hips. This time she found the cold reassuring steel of her pistols. She drew them and aimed at the apparitions in front of her. "You are not real."

"Good God Lara! Put those down!" Daddy shouted. "What do you think you're doing?"

"He's the demon," Mommy replied. "It's the American. You know you can't trust him. He just wants the Idol for himself. He doesn't care what happens to you or anybody."

"Lara," Daddy continued, this time soothingly. "Kill him and this all goes away."

Lara's eyes began to cloud up again. "I—I don't know...I..."

"Kill him," Daddy ordered. Lara turned and trained her guns on Ryan. "He is the demon. He doesn't care about you or anybody."

She gritted her teeth, trying to force the tears away. Ryan's face was impassive, resigned. Lara's fingers touched against the triggers. _Squeeze the trigger, don't pull it. _That was one of Lott's. Lara willed her hands to respond, squeeze off two rounds, kill Ryan Caruso. _No, kill the demon._

But in his sad blue eyes she could see that black headstone: NATALIE CARUSO. BELOVED WIFE. "No, he does care," Lara whispered.

"What?" Daddy demanded.

"He isn't the demon," Lara turned and trained her pistols on Mommy and Daddy. "You are."

With a flash her parents were gone. In their place was a shadow. Darker than the blackness. Its fiery eyes fixed Lara. She suddenly felt very weak, her pistols felt like granite boulders. "You foolish mortal! I will have you!" The shadow bolted at her. Lara instantly felt icy fingers at her throat crushing the life out of her. Those awful eyes filled her vision and in them she saw the very depths of hell. She could see herself writhing in hell, racked by those two rows of tombstones and the ones who laid buried there.

"Lara! This is still your world!" Ryan again. He seemed so distant. _Just let me die. I don't belong here. I'm too bad. I'm only worthy of hell._

"Fight it! You _must_ fight it!"

Deep within Lara felt a stirring. The ember of life that had all but been crushed out by weeks of sleepless nights, pain, shame and hopelessness had been kindled. She would fight. With a surge Lara threw back the shadow. It lingered for a moment and then darted for her. Lara drew her pistols and squeezed the triggers. Rich crimson flowed from the shadow. She squeezed the triggers again. More holes, more crimson. Lara squeezed them again and again until there was nothing but holes and crimson. What seemed like ages passed as the crimson faded.

No shadow, no eyes.

Blackness.


	11. Betrayals

"Ian, it's Ryan."

"What is it?" The voice sounded groggy.

"She found me."

"Who?"

"Lara Croft. She found me at the Convent. Carlos sent her to bring the Idol and me in exchange for her friends."

"How do you know this?"

"I had to perform an exorcism. I felt it while I shared her mind. You realize what this means don't you?" Ryan couldn't keep the excitement from his voice. _The end is almost here. Absolution._

"There will be a trade. And both parties will expect you to be present," Ian Fisher's voice had lost its fatigue. "Are you sure Carlos will be at the exchange?"

"He won't miss a chance like this. He'll want the kill to be very public."

Ian paused for a moment. Just as at the cafe in Lisbon Ryan could sense his tension. Despite Ryan's disgust for Fisher's leadership style he had to admit that he was a good strategist. Some of the time. "I'll make some calls. Call me when you have the details." The line clicked off.

Ryan powered off his cell phone. He turned to look at the cot where Lara lay. She was still deep in narcosis._ Let her rest, _Ryan thought._ She'll need all her strength if she is to have a chance of surviving tomorrow. _

Again that likeness haunted him. How similar they looked. He could remember times when he'd laid still next to Natalie for the first few minutes of the day, watching her sleep from a perfect trance that was only in part from his rigorous military training.

Ryan shook his head in an effort to clear it. Now was not the time for attachment, now was the time for retribution, absolution, death. If her blood was spilt tomorrow...she had presumed to turn him over to Carlos. She had to know what that meant. Retribution, absolution, death.

The end of the war.

But still, her face was so similar. _No. Stop it, stop it! Focus, control. Isn't that what you told her? _But there was no denying what he'd seen, what he'd _felt, _when he roamed her consciousness. The ache of losing someone you loved. The anger of betrayal. He didn't doubt that she too saw faces in her dreams; the pain he'd seen when she recalled her first kill...

_Dammit all! I sacrificed Natalie for this. I sacrificed everything. What's one more sacrifice? I'll end it, I have to. And if she gets in the way..._

* * *

Lara awoke gradually, for the first time in recent memory enjoying the onset of reality. The hellish descent of the past few weeks seemed only a dark dream. She felt renewed to a degree that sleep had never before renewed her. There was strength again in her body, her mind felt clear. Lara took a deep breath that filled her entire chest, held it, savoring it, and let it pass slowly between her lips.

Opening her eyes Lara saw she was lying on a cot at the edge of the large chamber. Ryan was nowhere to be seen. Nor were her twin pistols. He had even taken her revolver, ankle holster and all. _He must have been very thorough. _The thought of him searching her unconscious body revolted her, but at the same time she could sense that he had not taken any liberties. It was very strange how she could sense that, sense _him. Hadn't he said that common ground in the mind-world got kind of muddled? _

The memories from that joint hunt for the demon within her—how long ago it seemed—came freshly to her newly reinvigorated mind. The methodical, churning assembly of her trained mind mulled over the pieces of that hunt seeking to make sense of it all. But there were pieces in the puzzle that she did not recognize. They were there but they were not hers. Phantoms in the assembly. Ryan's phantoms. The more she focused the less clear these mysterious pieces were. It was as if she had been there, experienced something, and yet she definitely had not. She could see the cut and shape of these phantom pieces but they had no color. She knew what they were but was at a loss for where to place them.

The sound of footsteps interrupted her reverie. It was Ryan. He appeared from the tunnel corridor that she had used. Lara reflexively wondered if there was in fact any other way to come in and out. He carried some bundles of greasy newspaper in his hands. Two of these bundles landed unceremoniously beside her on the cot with the admonition to "eat up." Inside Lara found half of a fried chicken and a suitable accompaniment of greasy chips. Ryan took his own repast on a stool on the far side of the central altar, about as far from her as he could be.

He had definitely changed Lara decided. Gone was the cold confidence, the swaggering facade. But why? Was he trying to piece together what had happened between them just as she had done? _What a foolish way to think of it—between us, _Lara huffed inside. _Then again what is more intimate than sharing someone's mind? Maybe he's aware that he's lost his shell and is trying to bury his head in the sand. _At that thought a wan smile crossed her lips. Ryan noted it, Lara saw him and he abruptly turned away. _Why this conflict? _

After eating his meal in silence Ryan stared at the oily newspapers for a few minutes as if he were reading tea leaves. He eventually stood with all the natural ease of a Greek_ kouros_ statue and walked deliberately to where she sat on the cot. With observance that had become second nature Lara noted the slight limp in his walk and filed it away for future reference without even realizing she had done so.

"You can take the Idol to make this trade for your friends," Ryan said stiffly. "On one condition: I'm going with you." He did not look at her at all, instead choosing to fix his gaze on some point in the gray-tan stone wall.

"Why?" Lara hesitated even though this was what she wanted. No. This was what Shark Man wanted. _What was his name? Carlos Vicente, yes that was it._

"So I can track it. You can have your friends but that weapon cannot stay in the hands of the Shadow Kingdom for long. I've fought too hard to let it go now."

"You want to have your cake and eat it too is that it?" Lara quipped but there was no levity in her tone. She knew what could happen if Carlos even guessed that she was trying to have it both ways; fingers in boxes and executions. And who knew if it would even stop there.

"Carlos won't know that I'm tracking him. I promise you."

Lara rose from the cot and stood toe to toe with Ryan, catching his eyes completely in her own. What she said next pricked her to the very core. She was trampling on sacred ground for Ryan. Sacred ground that had become common ground and somehow a common pain for both. "Swear on Natalie's grave."

Ryan stiffened beyond his already statuesque bearing. His jaw clenched and he fixed her with his eyes, cringing as if he were holding them open in front of a naked flame. "I swear it."

Lara kept his eyes, searching for the truth in them but all she could see was that black headstone and 'Natalie Caruso. Beloved Wife.' She wondered what he saw in her eyes. Did he see that she planned to turn him over to Carlos? Was that part of the common ground that he could sense? Was it a phantom piece in his puzzle? Or could he already make out its shape and color?

Lara closed her eyes and turned from him. "I accept."

"Good." There was considerable strain in Ryan's voice as he said it. Lara knew she had just cut him deep. "I suppose you'll need to tell Carlos you've got what he's looking for."

"Yes," Lara whispered. She pulled the cell phone from her pocket and dialed. _I'm coming Paul. I'm coming James. _

_ But at what price?_

* * *

Clouds had rolled in from the Tagus River blanketing Lisbon in a bleak, rainy mist. The sun, as if exhausted from his efforts to pierce through the clouds, sank into the ocean as Lara and Ryan emerged from the Santa Apolonia train station. Lara recalled the awful satisfaction she had heard in Carlos Vicente's voice when she had announced that she had what he wanted.

"Your success is timely," he had said. "In a few more hours I would have felt it necessary to send you reminders." He drew out the last 's' making it apparent that he hadn't forgotten his end of the deal, right down to the last horrific detail.

Shortly thereafter Ryan had given her a large leather-bound tome that reeked of musty air and relentless decomposition. "Before you go any further there is something you should see," he had said. On the first page in richly-formed handwritten Latin had been the following text:

Rules of Demonry

I. Possession can occur between any unaligned demon and any unaligned Host.

II. Prolonged possession can lead to the Submission.

III. The time of possession leading to the Submission is dependent upon the willpower of the host, the purity of the host, and the strength of the demon.

IV. Possession can be ended by intervention of the proper Authority.

V. For an Alignment to occur there must be cooperation between Host and demon in the form of the Submission.

VI. An aligned demon grants its host body certain powers.

VII. The powers of an aligned Host are varied and dependent on the type of demon.

VIII. An aligned demon can project itself onto other hosts while remaining aligned.

IX. Projection can only be halted by resistance of the surrogate host or an attack on the aligned demon projecting.

X. When a host body is killed the aligned demon loses the power of possession.

The translation had been tough to make and Lara was not quite sure if she was correct on some of the terms but the subject of the text had been very clear. "This is the sum of all of the knowledge we have collected about the Shadow Kingdom and how it works," Ryan had stated again matter-of-factly, again avoiding her eyes. "Carlos is not playing a game here. He wants control of the demons in the Idol. What was happening to you will happen to others if he gets it."

Lara had shuddered just thinking about the pains and nightmares of the past weeks. And now she shuddered again thinking about those words: Submission, possession, Alignment.

"Are you cold?" Ryan's tone of voice was not solicitous, more like he was asking what time it was.

"No it's not that," Lara replied. She looked askance at him as they walked along the sidewalk toward the Praça de Comercio. He still refused to look at her. She wondered if this advent of coldness arose from his knowing that she was going to betray him. It was almost as if he were trying to decathect from her.

It was a deadly game now. If he suspected what she was going to do, what she _had_ to do in the exchange for her friends...she'd seen what he was capable of. And even if he suspected nothing to avoid violence while turning him over to Carlos would require action in a very narrow window of opportunity. One misstep could result in her death or the death of her friends. _Or all of us. _It was a grim prospect. Less than twelve hours ago and Lara would have almost welcomed death. Now with hope surging anew in her veins she feared death as much as ever.

The cold damp air clung to her black overcoat and sunk into it down to the jeans and cotton top she wore. Over her shoulder was the dufflebag which held her arsenal. She half wished it hadn't been necessary to bring it. The graveyard of her mind had been a stark reminder of what her weapons could do; had done.

"We have an hour before the exchange." Ryan's voice remained cold, distant. "We should wait indoors until then." He led the way to a cafe not very far from the place where he and Ian Fisher had met less than a week before. It was a larger establishment with wet weeds and cigarette butts choking the cobblestones in front. Inside the crowded cafe/bar the lights were turned low. Towards the back was a small stage with a couple empty stools and microphones. This was one of the area's _fado _clubs. Lara and Ryan managed to find a small, unoccupied table in a dark corner to the left of the stage and ordered coffee. Both remained silent, their thoughts focused on the deadly game that would begin in less than an hour.

Shortly after the coffee arrived a man and a woman took the stage. The man brought with him the twelve-string Portuguese guitar; the woman brought the black shawl of the_ fadista _draped around her strapless dress of purple silk. The man was slightly balding, slightly overweight and boasted a face pitted with the effects of some skin condition. The woman was plump, with full lips and long dark hair. The pair was a modern rendition of beauty and the beast.

The guitarist began a melancholy tune, teasing the sorrowful notes from the many strings. The singer swayed slightly, letting the music sink into her pores and fill her with its sadness and longing, the key components of _fado. _The song began at a low wail and grew into a mournful plea. The singer's voice was strong and clear and carried straight into the heart of all present. Lara looked at Ryan. His jaw was clenching, tears were beginning to form in his eyes. Deep within Lara could sense a sadness of her own rising. It was vague but powerful, teased from her depths by more than just the music, which she could only half understand, it came from Ryan; something unknown that they shared.

"What's she saying?" Lara whispered to him.

He shut his eyes, like he was trying to block everything out. Lara was about to ask again when he spoke, his own voice a trembling whisper. "She says that her love is gone. She wonders how he could have died so young. And now she lies down full of sorrows at night and cries alone. She longs for the days when they were together. Where have you gone my love? Where have you gone?" He shut his eyes again.

Lara could now almost see the source of the mysterious pain in Ryan's eyes. He had brought to the surface what she had seen so submerged at their first meeting. Her next question came of its own accord, there was no forbearing. "How did Natalie die?"

Ryan bowed his head. The tears receded, his jaw loosened; he had resigned himself to what came next. "Carlos killed her. Natalie and I were driving in downtown D.C. and some of his men crashed a car into ours. My seatbelt locked and kept me from getting out. Carlos projected his demon onto Natalie and she drowned herself in the nearby river." Ryan recited the events as if it were someone else's tragedy.

"And she was pregnant with your first child." It was Ryan's turn to be surprised by the common ground. "Why didn't he kill you?"

"It was a feint within a feint. I killed his wife and child. The leaders of the Order knew he wanted revenge so they used me as bait. Reinforcements arrived before Carlos could finish me, but not before he took my heart. He did kill me that day." For only the second time since she awoke from the dream world Ryan was looking at her. "Lara don't go through with this," he pleaded.

"I have to." Lara's own voice was plaintive. She felt Ryan's pain as if it were her own._ Oh God, how can I go through with this? But if I don't..._

"Don't go to the exchange. Give me the Idol. I'll make the trade. Please don't go."

"I have to," Lara repeated. "My friends need me. I...I..." The words wouldn't come, they couldn't. She stood, dufflebag in hand, and fled to the bathroom. In the small closet of a bathroom she let the tears flow. It was either deliver Ryan Caruso to be killed or let her friends die. The decision had been somewhat easy until she came to know Ryan's pain, _feel _his pain. It was a pain they both shared, the pain of losing someone you loved.

Another patron banging on the door jolted her from the guilty reverie. She turned her attention to the dufflebag. With expert hands Lara quickly armed herself—twin H&K .40 pistols, .38 revolver, and Uzi. She was careful to pull her overcoat tight around her to hide her arsenal. As she emerged from the bathroom and passed the peeved patron the cafe burst into applause. Beauty and the beast had just finished their song. Lara deftly made her way through the other patrons—who were now on their feet—to the table where Ryan sat. He looked at her as she came near but before he could react she pulled the case containing the Idol from under his chair and bolted for the door.

She knew it was probably futile and more than a bit foolish to try this; Ryan knew where the exchange was going to take place and what was more Carlos wouldn't be willing to make the trade without him. Out in the dark, wet street Lara hailed a taxi and jumped in. " Praça de Comercio," she ordered. As the taxi sped off she could see Ryan emerging from the crowded cafe.

_No, Ryan. It's too late. I'll do this alone. I have to. _


	12. The Exchange

The night's incessant cold drizzle had forced most tourists from the Praça de Comércio by the time Lara's taxi arrived. She stepped out of the taxi and onto the vast concrete plain that was the Praça. It was large, almost 200 meters on all sides, and surrounded by 18th century buildings on three sides and the Tagus River on the fourth. On the north end was a five-storey triumphal arch reminiscent of ancient Rome sitting in between two of the buildings which used to serve as the trade centers of the Portuguese empire. Through that arch was the Rua Augusta—a wide, pedestrian affair of bleached cobblestones and small shops—which led upward toward the Rossio, another of Lisbon's famous plazas. In the middle of the Praça de Comércio was a large equestrian statue of a king Lara could not identify. Lara spent most of her time looking at the statue and its twelve-foot pedestal, as it was the only cover to be found for hundreds of feet. She made her way towards it, hoping that she could dictate, in some small way, where the trade would take place. Her hair was drenched by the time she made it to the statue. Her flesh felt cool and clammy despite the pounding of her heart. Under her overcoat she felt the reassuring weight of her arsenal.

"You disappoint me, Miss Croft."

Lara turned to see Carlos Vicente rounding the corner of the statue. A few steps behind him stood two men; they were muscular, stone-faced and—judging from the bulges in their coat pockets—armed. Carlos wore a black overcoat. In his left hand he held an umbrella. There was an air of cool confidence around him; the same disconcerting calm she'd seen when he attacked her boat and when she had been led into his dark stronghold.

"Where are my friends?"

"Where is Ryan Caruso? Or have you forgotten the terms of our exchange?" Carlos said icily.

"Ryan Caruso is close by. I'll tell you exactly where once my friends are safe," Lara was betting with money she knew she didn't have. Despite her formidable weaponry, she was severely outgunned; she had already spied five more of Carlos' men in just a single glance around the plaza. All wore long overcoats no doubt to hide large weapons.

Carlos sighed and whispered something to one of his guards. The guard looked towards the street on the east end of the plaza and made a signal with his left hand. Lara followed his gaze and saw another one of Carlos' men open the door of a parked black sedan and pull out two men. One was short and pudgy, the other tall and lean. Carlos turned back to face Lara. "Which one should I kill? The case in your hand will buy you the other one."

"You kill either of them and you'll get nothing!" Lara spat. "I've rigged the case with an explosive charge and I'm the only one who knows the code to disarm it."

"You're lying," Carlos replied evenly.

"Just try me," Lara growled.

Carlos paused for a few eternal seconds and stared into Lara's face. Convinced that he was about to call her bluff, Lara's mind raced to find a new bargaining chip. Her heart began to thud uncomfortably in her chest, cold sweat formed at her temples.

"Alright." Carlos' words jolted Lara from her despair. "Your friends can go." He made a sign towards his man by the car and Paul and James were released. "Now, where is Ryan Caruso?"

The sight of her friends, walking toward her under their own power, flooded Lara with such a sense of relief that she handed the metal case to Carlos without being asked to. Her relief was interrupted by the relentless analyst that was her mind. Carlos' question had almost gone unnoticed but now it was brought to the forefront of her awareness. This was the moment she most feared—when the balance of power would shift entirely out of her hands—and unfortunately the moment she had least been able to prepare for. It had only been complicated by her new understanding of Ryan Caruso. If she told Carlos where Ryan was and the treacherous Shark Man found his prey would Lara be able to live with herself? On the other hand if Carlos didn't find Ryan could she live at all?

"Where is he, Miss Croft?"

"He—," Lara began slowly.

"I'm right here." Ryan appeared behind Lara as if he had suddenly dropped out of the sky. "You didn't think I'd try to hide, did you?"

Carlos laughed. There was no levity in the sound. "You really are a fool. A brave fool, but a fool nevertheless."

"Let's get this over with," Ryan said. He sounded resigned but also angry.

"Yes, let's begin shall we?" smiled Carlos. In a series of movement so calculated it seemed rehearsed, Carlos and Ryan drew their weapons. Without thinking Lara drew her pistols and trained them on Carlos' nearest two guards. Their weapons—menacing submachine guns with silencers—were already out. The rest of Carlos' thugs were closing in.

"Miss Croft, I've been more than generous," Carlos said quietly. "Take your friends and leave, or stay and you'll all die."

"He's right Lara, you need to leave now." Ryan did not take his eyes of Carlos.

A distant scream informed the combatants that someone had noticed the standoff. Lara estimated that it would only be moments before the police arrived. Still, no one moved. Ryan was outgunned. To leave him now would guarantee his death. To stay would possibly guarantee her own. And Paul's. And James'. Lara's heart seemed to be beating in her throat. Her mouth felt dry and the skin on her face was coated in perspiration mixed with rain. Slowly she holstered her weapons.

"I'm sorry, Ryan," she whispered.

"Don't be, just get the hell out of here." Ryan's tone was urgent, pleading almost.

Lara's eyes began to cloud up as she turned and walked towards her friends. Fifty meters from the standoff she finally could reach out and touch them. It was the first time in nearly two weeks that she had seen James and Paul. Despite the obvious traces of imprisonment—loss of weight, dirty faces, greasy hair, haggard expressions—they appeared to be all right.

"Lara, you're alive," James smiled and embraced her.

"I was going to say the same about you," Lara smiled weakly. "Come on, we've got to get out of here." She led her friends towards a line of taxis on the north edge of the plaza. Once her friends were safely inside the yellow Mercedes-Benz, Lara risked looking back at the cluster of armed men standing by the statue. Their weapons were still raised. Police sirens were wailing in the distance.

"I'm so sorry Ryan," she whispered to herself.

Gunfire erupted across the plaza.


	13. Blood Feud

Lara could not force herself into the taxi next to her friends. She remained rooted to the ground even as everyone around her ran screaming for the cover of Rua Augusta and the surrounding shops. The cab driver was yelling at her in Portuguese. Still she couldn't move, she couldn't get in the cab but she couldn't bring herself to turn and face what she had done. At some future time—her own death perhaps—would she have to return to the graveyard in her mind and look at the new tombstone of her making bearing the name 'Ryan Caruso?'

_No. I can't stand by. _"Go!" Lara shouted to the cab driver. She shut the door on her bewildered friends before they could protest. The tires squealed on the wet cobblestone street and the Mercedes-Benz sedan tore off honking noisily at the screaming pedestrians. Lara, however, was not really aware of any of those sounds. She had already made a decision and her tomb raider mind had switched itself on. _Never mind the obvious, that's just there to distract you from the secret, the important and the dangerous. _She was focusing on other sounds more important to her now than screams and honking: the throaty chatter of large caliber rifles both German- and American-made. The sharp report of pistol fire. The _pffft-pffft_ of silenced submachine guns on full auto and the mounting wail of police and ambulance sirens.

Lara shed her sodden trenchcoat as she turned back to face the statue where she assumed Ryan Caruso was either dead or dying. The sight that greeted her was both heartening and horrifying. Carlos' men were taking cover around the statue's pedestal. From the surrounding rooftops long, bright muzzle flashes were popping from what Lara guessed were sniper rifles. Despite impressive firepower of their own, Carlos' men were taking quite a beating. Lara could not tell from this vantage if Ryan Caruso's body lay among the carnage.

With a desperate resolve, Lara unslung the Uzi from her shoulder and ran for the pedestal. However, before she could close enough to begin firing, Carlos' men made a break for the cover of the western arcade about 50 meters away. The fierceness of their counterattack caused the sniper rifles to go silent for a moment as the gunners reacquired their targets. Lara felt confident that the operatives of the Shadow Kingdom had met their match so instead of following she tacked carefully for the statue's pedestal. The area was slick with the blood of several dead men. Lara heaved a sigh: Ryan was not among them.

Before she could dwell on her good fortune a blast rocked the plaza. The rooftop post of one of the snipers was now engulfed in flame. Pieces of tile, wood and stone rained down on the rain-soaked ground. All at once Lara was confronted with the turn of the tide in this small war. The once-superior snipers were now being harried not just by rifle fire from the cluster of Carlos' survivors on the ground but by a helicopter swooping in from the river side of the plaza. Through the open bay doors Lara could see the unmistakable silhouette of a man holding an RPG.

A second blast was followed closely by a third. The remaining snipers were now in full retreat. The vanguard of the police arrived from the east via the river boulevard as the chopper began to descend onto the plaza. Lara noted with horror that whoever had bothered to call the police had not been very clear on the details. The first cars on the scene were little Fiats with a pair of regular officers to a car. Yet another RPG exploded the lead car tossing it onto its side. The two remaining cars tried frantically to evade this unexpected bird of prey landing in the plaza. One swerved and crashed into the top of the seawall that framed one side of the boulevard's wide sidewalk. The other pulled into reverse in a desperate attempt to get out of range but only made it a few meters before being picked apart by rifle fire emanating from the chopper.

Within seconds the chopper had landed between the statue, where Lara had taken cover, and the arches where Carlos' men were hiding, its rotor kicking up an icy cold spray as it did so. Once the wheels were on the ground, the beleaguered Carlos rushed forward surrounded by his remaining killers. Nobody had taken notice of Lara. She took advantage of their mistake and crouched low and to the side of the pedestal giving herself a nice, protected field of fire. The chopper was mostly obstructing her view of the oncoming Carlos but once he entered the rear bay she would have a clean shot through the open doors. With luck she might even cause him to drop the case holding the Idol, but either way she would have done with him. The man who had tortured her friends would be dead. The man who had probably killed Ryan would be dead.

_Ryan._

Lara shoved the rage and the remorse to the back of her mind. There would be time for that later. She steadied her weapon and focused her breathing. A shot at 20 meters with an Uzi and a pounding heart and trembling hands would be extremely difficult. The first of Carlos' men climbed aboard. Lara waited. There was more movement in the rear bay. Still no sign of Carlos. The engine throttled up and the chopper began to lift off.

_Show your face, damn you._

Her wish was granted as the helo lifted a few feet off the ground. Flashing his shark smile, Carlos peered out at the destruction in the plaza. Lara eased off a few rounds. They missed their mark. She adjusted and loosed several controlled bursts into the helo's bay. She was rewarded with a cry of shock and pain as Carlos crumpled to the floor. Even through the white spray kicked up by the rotor Lara could tell several bullets had found their mark in his chest.

The Shadow Kingdom's vengeance was swift. Multiple rifles chattered from the confines of the helo. Pieces of stone and cement were spraying all around Lara. One bullet caught her in the inner thigh. She took cover behind the pedestal. With one hand she reloaded the Uzi and with the other tried to staunch the bleeding. It was bad but not spurting: the bullet had missed the femoral artery. She could hear the helo angling as if to swing around and deprive her of cover. Lara realized that her success was about to be short lived. She was alone, wounded, facing off against a helicopter filled with trained killers. She would not be able to hide for long.

Lara prepared to move. The arcades along the buildings surrounding the plaza were too far for her to reach even without a leg which was already on fire with pain, but she would continue to run around the pedestal until they got wise and hit her with an RPG. She caught sight of the rotor blade coming around the statue but instead of circling in it circled out and darted up and out towards the river. Lara soon saw why.

It looked like every police car and officer in Lisbon had descended on the Praça de Comércio. Several large black vans and trucks roared up and disgorged their squads of heavily-armed soldiers. Dozens of ambulances and fire trucks fought for space with small squad cars that choked up the surrounding streets.

_Police will look for evidence that confirms their initial assumption. It's easier for them that way. –Lott. _Lara's mind switched into overdrive. What would the police find it easiest to believe? That she was there in the plaza to trade an ancient artifact chock full of demons and the life of a man who belonged to an organization that had been extinct for half a millennium for two of her friends and had just been caught, unfortunately, in the ensuing bloodbath? Or that she was a complete psychopath who had just escaped from an asylum in London? There was no two ways about it—Lara could not afford to be detained by the police. Not with her friends and Ryan still unaccounted for, and the Idol in the possession of the Shadow Kingdom.

Lara shoved her Uzi under one of the dead men surrounding her. Then, with some short-lived regret, she unfastened her gun belt and stashed her twin H&K USP .40s in the same fashion. She fought to move quickly without attracting attention. Already she could see that the police had strung a barrier around the plaza. Next, she ripped the sleeves off of her cotton top and wrapped them loosely around her wound. She stood shakily and began to limp to the nearest ambulance. When she was about 30 meters away Lara completed the act. _I am Lott's chameleon._

"Oh, God! I'm shot! I've lost so much blood! Those men are murderers! Oh my God, I'm going to die aren't I?" The paramedic she was screaming at probably couldn't understand what she was saying but there was no mistaking her hysterics. He caught sight of her leg—now thoroughly soaked in blood, to Lara's grim satisfaction—and rushed to her. He offered her his shoulder and guided her quickly to the ambulance. Before he could place her on a stretcher though, one of the police officers intercepted them. He spoke rapidly to the paramedic while motioning back toward the statue where she had just come from. He pointed from her to the statue and then gave a vague wave of his hand around the plaza. The paramedic rejoined by pointing at her leg and then the ambulance. Lara knew very little Portuguese but she could tell exactly what was being said. She was starting to feel light-headed. The ruse with her poorly tied bandages was now working too well and unless she got attention soon…

"Aagghh! I can't stand the pain! Are those maniacs coming back? Please get me to a hospital! Hospital!" She screamed and buckled half-dramatically against the paramedic. That settled it. The officer motioned for the paramedic to place her in the ambulance but not before he summoned two of the black clad SWAT officers to ride in the back with her. He himself got in his squad car and made to follow the ambulance. The SWAT officers sat one on either side of her and, with a caution that bespoke excellent training, cable-tied her wrists to the sides of the stretcher just as a precaution. Lara groaned inwardly: if they were this careful without knowing who she was, what would happen when they discovered her identity? Her vision began to swim. Temporarily resigned to her fate, she leaned back on the stretcher and lost consciousness.


	14. Parting Ways

In the space between dreams and reality Lara felt herself running. She was running away from Ryan Caruso. And yet part of her knew she most definitely could not be running because she was in the back of an ambulance cable-tied to a stretcher. But still another part of Lara knew she most definitely was running. Her heart was pounding. Pounding like it was going to break. And then it was breaking, breaking because she'd left a man to die. She'd left Ryan to die in her place. Was that any different than leaving Paul or James?

And in that space between dreams and reality, Lara had to admit she cared for Ryan. She cared for him deeply. And like most realizations that happen in this no-world, even as it vanishes like a puff of smoke, it becomes all the more potent upon waking.

A loud boom and then the screech and squeal of tires assaulted her ears and suddenly her stretcher plunged forward, the plastic cables cutting into the soft flesh of her wrists. The paramedic worked quickly to readjust the IV line in Lara's forearm. The policemen on either side of her swore—at least it sounded like swearing—and tried to get a view of what was happening outside. As they peered through the small window that connected the rear cabin to the driver's compartment, the rear doors flew open. The officers realized their mistake at once but they were not quick enough. A man jumped right in through the open doors and pinned the officer on Lara's left against the wall before he could get his weapon free. Lara craned her head back to see what who was orchestrating this attack but his face was covered with a ski mask. The officer on Lara's right reached for his gun but not before the mystery attacker removed the pepper spray from the belt of the officer he had pinned and let loose a jet of irritant in the man's face. The attacker then deftly removed the half-extended pistol from the officer he had just sprayed and whipped the butt of it into the temple of the officer next to him.

In what he probably thought was a chivalrous gesture, the paramedic threw himself over Lara. This only earned him a pistol-whipping and a rough toss into the officer whose face was now in excruciating pain. All three men had been rendered unconscious in less than twenty seconds. The perpetrator of this hyper-efficient brutality turned to the back of the ambulance and closed the doors, sealing himself and Lara inside. Lara's stomach tightened itself into a huge knot. Then the attacker took off his mask.

"Ryan!"

"I'll catch you up later. We need to move." Ryan said quietly as he whipped out a small switchblade and cut Lara's bonds. "Grab some supplies—whatever we'll need to patch up your leg."

While Lara fumbled around for some medical equipment, Ryan peeled off his sodden shirt, and removed the shirt and cap from the officer next to him. After a minute he looked more or less like a police officer from the waist up. He added to his ensemble the officer's belt, complete with pistol and pepper spray. "Ready to go?"

"Ready." Lara nodded as she stuffed the last item into the small medic's bag. Ryan opened the rear doors and helped Lara down. A pretty decent crowd had gathered around what Lara now observed to be a pretty major traffic accident. And yet the large overturned truck which had stopped the ambulance cold did not seem accidental at all. Ryan led the way to the small police car that had been trailing the ambulance. He helped Lara into the back seat and then took his place behind the wheel. In the passenger seat was another officer who appeared to be asleep.

"Is he…"

"He's unconscious. Don't worry. We'll ditch the car in a little bit." With that Ryan hit the sirens and then maneuvered the car away from the site of the "accident". Once they were clear of the scene Ryan cut the sirens and accelerated. They drove in silence for about ten minutes, Ryan checking the mirrors almost constantly. Lara tried to reapply her bandages but her wrists were so sore she just made more of a mess of it.

Ryan pulled the car into a multi-level parking garage and circled up to the highest level. He stopped the car and waited for a few minutes to make sure no one was following them. "We'll go the rest of the way on foot," he said as he stepped out of the car. Lara tried to follow suit but her wounded leg would not cooperate. Ryan's face darkened. "Let me see that." Lara returned to the back seat and Ryan crouched down next to her.

"I'll be okay. I think it went clean through."

Ryan fixed her with his eyes in a way that made her squirm inside. It was the kind of look her father used to give her when he knew she was lying. "You need to get cleaned up before we go anywhere." With his knife he cut away the pant leg around the wound and then began to remove the blood-soaked bandages. When he touched her she was surprised at how gentle his hands were. She had seen those hands engaged in such brutality. And yet when she felt them against her skin they didn't feel brutal at all.

"That's better," Ryan said as he finished. "You think you can walk now?"

Lara stood and tested her leg. It was awfully sore but she didn't want Ryan's work to go unrecognized. "I think I can walk, thanks." She gestured to the sodden, torn shirt and one-legged pants she was now wearing. "But I'm definitely not going anywhere like this."

"I'm on it." Ryan threw the officer's cap and belt into the car, turned the shirt inside out, and stuffed the pistol into his waistband. "Stay in the car. I'll be right back."

"Be careful."

Ryan nodded and jogged toward the exit stairs. Lara had to fight the urge to act. She never had been good at sitting through trauma. Through a tremendous exercise of will, Lara relaxed her body. Her mind, however, was unavoidably in the mindset of a tomb raider. Lara quickly took stock of the situation. James and Paul were safe. At least she thought they were. They had left the Praça do Comércio just as the gunfight started. Hopefully they had gone straight to the British embassy. But perhaps James wouldn't leave her. What if he was looking for her right now? Lara suppressed the thought. It couldn't be acted on right now so there was no sense worrying about it. Worrying would come later when she had sorted out the present problem.

The present problem.

Lara's heart dropped. She was still on the run from the police, and now would be wanted for questioning in at least two countries. Who could corroborate her story? James? Paul? They would have a lot to explain. And so much of what had happened to them was inexplicable: the darkness, the possession, Shark Man's icy touch.

Shark Man. Carlos Vicente. Leader of the Shadow Kingdom.

The man who had kidnapped her friends—and killed Ryan's wife, she reminded herself—had been brought to justice. But not by the law. And that would make things all the harder to explain. She didn't know if the authorities wanted Carlos Vicente or not. Either way she was sure they frowned on the kind of vigilantism she'd engaged in.

The Shadow Kingdom still had the Idol, but could they use it without Carlos? She didn't know. Too many unknowns and chief among them: what were she and Ryan going to do? Was there even a she _and _Ryan? It was only a happenstance that had brought them together. His task had been to avenge the death of his wife. Her task had been to free her friends. Their missions were complete. Shouldn't they part ways now? After all she barely knew him.

And yet, Lara couldn't deny that she knew him as intimately as she had known anyone. He had shared her mind. In a way, they were one. His family had been taken from him and so had hers. Those losses had led them to their personal crusades: Ryan fighting a war for the Templars, Lara fighting for herself. She had gone back to save him and he had come back to save her. In her heart of hearts, Lara realized that she had gone back for him not out of a sense of duty, but for something more.

The opening of the car door jolted Lara from her thoughts. Ryan took a seat in the front and thrust a pair of jeans, a t-shirt and a jacket into her hands. "We need to move quickly. Get changed."

Lara began to undress, caught herself in the act, and looked up at Ryan. He met her eyes for the smallest of seconds and then turned away to watch the exits. Lara could feel her cheeks flush. She tried to hurry but her bum leg and the small space made dressing difficult. After an awkward minute she was done. The new clothing fit surprisingly well. Ryan, it would seem, had sized her up early on. "Now what?" Lara asked.

_Now what?_ It was a deceptively complex question.

"We need to find some place to hide out," Ryan replied. "Fortunately, the kind of place we need is the only kind that's open this time of night."

Lara and Ryan left the parking garage and found a flophouse in the neighborhood of Anjos where they could spend the night. Ryan paid in cash. The old hotelier behind the dingy front desk seemed to have developed the much-desired habit of not asking questions. Their room was a small, dimly-lit affair with peeling paint and a sagging queen-sized bed.

"Get some sleep. I'll take the first watch," Ryan said as he propped a beaten chest of drawers against the door. Lara lied down on the bed and fell asleep fully clothed.

* * *

When she awoke, pale sunlight was streaming in through holes in the red velvet curtains. Apparently, Ryan's "first watch" had lasted the whole night. He sat, pistol in hand, staring blankly at the door. His eyes were a little bloodshot. He looked worn down. For her part, Lara felt better after some sleep, except for her leg which had stiffened considerably. No stranger to pain, she began to stretch it out as best she could.

"You're awake," Ryan said quietly.

"You didn't wake me up," Lara replied.

"I figured since I wasn't the one who got shot, I could stand to donate some shut eye to your cause." Ryan gave a slight smile.

Lara paused. "How did you get away? You don't even have a scratch on you."

"I had planned on there being a shootout. The snipers cleared a path for me, so I could go after Carlos."

"Your snipers must not be great shots because I was the one who ended up killing him."

"Carlos?" Ryan asked shocked.

"Yes, he's dead Ryan." Lara felt a little pang of bitter pride at that statement. She didn't enjoy killing, but at the same time she almost wanted Ryan to be pleased with her—as if Carlos' death were a gift she had given him.

"When did this happen?"

"I shot him as he was taking off in the chopper," Lara replied.

"Oh," Ryan nodded as comprehension dawned. "I get it." This was not exactly the response Lara had been hoping for. She had killed the man who had murdered Ryan's wife and unborn child right before his eyes. _What kind of response _had_ I been hoping for? _Lara wondered.

"I would think having your vendetta fulfilled would earn me a little more than an 'oh, I get it,'" Lara half-joked.

Ryan's face hardened slightly. "That wasn't Carlos that you killed."

"What?"

"We've long suspected that Carlos uses a double for most of his face-to-face work. The demon he's aligned himself with is too smart to let his host wander into danger like that, even if he can't be killed by bullets."

Lara felt a little angry. _Why do I care whether or not I killed the real Carlos? _"So where is the real Carlos?"

"I suspected he was in the car that had your friends in it. In the off chance that his men were victorious, he would want to be there to finish me off. As soon as I had a path I ran after the car. I came close but it got away." Ryan's face hardened a little more. "I went back to the Praça to see if I could gather any intel from Carlos' men. I assumed you had left with your friends, but then I saw you get picked up by the police. So I intervened. I still need you."

Lara was caught off-guard by this statement. She swallowed hard and said: "You _need_ me?"

"Carlos has the Idol now. It's only a matter of time before he uses it. I need you to help me find it."

Lara sat for a minute and churned through this new information. Her tomb raider mind assembled what it could, but there was still too much she didn't know. First and foremost, had James and Paul made it out okay? Lara wanted to go after them, but she couldn't escape a gnawing feeling that she still owed something to Ryan Caruso. A decision had to be made. Lara just hoped it was the right one.

"Ryan, I'm afraid there's nothing more I can do to help you. The kind of manhunt you're talking about is not my area of expertise. I know it's important—I know what those demons can do—but I need to look after my friends."

Ryan frowned but nodded acceptingly. "This isn't your war. You've done more than your share already."

They sat in an awkward silence for a few minutes. Both of them thought of several ways to break it but then dismissed them as insufficient. There were many things Lara wanted to say to Ryan—all of them sincere and meaningful—but instead what escaped her lips was: "If you happen to find Carlos in a tomb, call me."

It was a bad joke but Ryan still smiled. "I'd start looking for your friends at the embassy."

"I thought of that but I'm a wanted woman. I couldn't get near it."

"Well then, consider this my parting gift," Ryan said as he produced a small nylon bag from his pocket. From the bag he pulled a British passport and a wad of Euros. He handed both items to Lara. She opened the passport. It had a name—Alex Smith—but no picture. "I'd say cut your hair to a little less than shoulder length and dye it blonde but not too flashy. Get a some pictures of yourself and then call this number." Ryan wrote a phone number on one of the fifty euro notes. "He goes by Joaquim. I've used him before. He's good."

"Thank you."

"And…if you reconsider my offer," Ryan scrawled another number on the euro. "You can reach me at this number."

"I guess this is goodbye then," Lara said.

"I guess so," Ryan replied softly. He stuck the pistol in his waistband and then crossed the room to the door. Before he left, Ryan looked back at Lara, opened his mouth as if to say something, and then—as if thinking better of it—closed his mouth and walked out.

Lara let out a deep breath she hadn't known she was holding and sat down on the bed. "Good luck Ryan," she whispered.


	15. James Woodson

Almost 48 hours after Ryan's departure, Lara was ready to go looking for James and Paul at the embassy. Her hair was now dirty blonde and reached just to her shoulders. She wore it back in a loose pony tail. She was dressed in tan slacks, a chunky wool sweater and a light hooded rain jacket. It was scarcely what Lara would call functional apparel but she had decided that the less she looked like a tomb raider, the better. In one pocket she carried the passport of the fictitious Alex Smith—recently completed by the remarkable Joaquim—along with what was left of her cash. In the other pocket Lara carried a folding knife she had purchased at a sporting goods store along with some other items.

A light rain started to fall when Lara was about three blocks from the embassy. This allowed her to put her hood up, making the disguise complete. Lara had considered just turning herself in—it would have to happen sooner or later—but the thought of being detained without knowing for sure that James and Paul were safe was too much for her. She would play Lott's chameleon for just a little bit longer.

As Lara turned onto the Rua de Luís Fernandes her pace slowed slightly. She had jogged past the embassy the day before as a form of reconnaissance and physical therapy. Now she checked every building and car and cobblestone for signs of something out of place. Here, as in a tomb, out of place signaled danger. About fifty meters from the front gate of the embassy everything was out of place.

The day before there had been two security officers posted at the gate. Today there were four. There were three police cars parked opposite the gate and several officers were standing in knots on the sidewalk. Lara felt the hairs on her arms stand up. She had to will her legs to keep moving her forward. Twenty meters to the gate. Lara struggled to keep a reasonable pace. Was she limping? Was she walking too slow? It felt like she was running. Ten meters. Out of the corner of her eye she could see one of the police officers across the street looking at her. Five meters. One of the security officers was handed a sheet of paper. Lara caught a glimpse of it. It was a series of stills from a security camera showing a woman in jogging apparel with shoulder-length blonde hair. Lara's heart caught in her throat. She stopped in front of the gate. She knew she needed to move but her feet had adhered to the white cobblestone walk.

Flashing lights and a siren behind her jolted Lara out of the trance. Another police car was coming down the street behind her. _I'm through,_ Lara thought. She waited for one of the officers to clamp handcuffs on her wrists. But instead two of the security officers left the front gate to open a larger side gate for the car to drive through. The car drove to the side of the three story building and parked. One of the officers got out and opened the rear door. A man in handcuffs got out. Lara couldn't help herself, she stared. It was James Woodson.

Lara snapped back to reality. She turned from the gate and kept walking at a medium pace down the street. At the Rua da Escola Politécnica she hailed a cab. "So I'll have to do it the hard way then," Lara muttered to herself.

* * *

The circumstances of Lara's return to the embassy that night could not have been more different from what they had been in the morning. After nightfall she had entered an apartment building almost a block from the embassy, climbed onto the roof, and then traveled by rooftop until she was perched across from her target. She was dressed in black spandex tights, black sneakers, and a black hooded jacket. Her hair was hidden under a black stocking cap. From a duffel-bag Lara pulled a long coil of nylon rope, a hunting bow, and several arrows. With expert hands she affixed the rope to one of the arrows.

It was going to be a very tough shot. The embassy roof was about ten meters away and there was nothing soft in which to embed the arrow. The only possible target was a section of aluminum air duct on the far edge of the roof. That meant she needed to hit a target less than a meter wide, more than twenty meters away, with enough force to pierce a sheet of aluminum several millimeters thick. _And not be seen or heard by the guards while doing it. _Lara reminded herself. She peered over the edge of the roof to check on them. Three guards were patrolling the grounds. A fourth stood just outside the gate smoking a cigarette.

Lara tied the other end of the rope to a chimney behind her and then stood, bow in hand. She nocked an arrow, drew back on the string, and let out half of her breath in a slow, steady exhale. _Fffffchk!_

There was a whistle, much too loud for Lara's taste, and a metal crunch as the arrow buried itself in the duct. She immediately dropped to the ground, praying no one flashed a light up there. She heard the guards congregate by the side of the building closest to her. The muttered to each other. She waited. It was fifteen minutes before she dared peek over the edge of the roof. The guards had resumed their patrols.

With the utmost care Lara tugged on the rope, testing it. It held. She put one leg over the edge of the roof and put some weight on the rope. It held. _And now the moment of truth. _Lara put both legs over and eased herself onto the rope.

It held.

She crept along the underside of the rope, ankles crossed, hand over hand. Each second she was out there, totally exposed, Lara was convinced a guard was going to look up. She forced the fear out of her mind and pressed on. After an eternal minute she was on the embassy roof. She made her way to the side and climbed down a drainpipe until she was perched outside a third story window. It was dark inside. She tested the window. It was unlocked! Lara heaved an inward sigh of relief at not having to climb around the entire building, pushed open the window, and dropped lightly inside.

Once her eyes had adjusted she found that she was in a kind of anteroom leading onto an office. There were a few armchairs, a low table, some large potted plants, and an antique dressing screen in one corner. Lara could hear voices in the adjoining office. _James!_ Lara moved closer to the door. The other voice was not Paul's, Lara's heart dropped a little. Then she heard it. The second voice…she knew that voice. The voice was Daniel Hunter's, the reporter who had clued her in on Ryan's whereabouts and his membership in the Knights Templar. _What is _he_ doing here? _

Lara pressed her ear to the door.

"Look, I don't know where she is." James' voice. Protesting.

"You didn't really try to look for her." Hunter's voice. Chiding.

"The damned local police got in my way!"

"They told me they found you at a bar, halfway through a bottle of Smirnoff."

"Smirnoff…I could go for some right now. I think I saw some next door…" The sound of footsteps approached the door where Lara crouched listening. She sprang to her feet, crossed the room at a run and ducked behind the dressing screen just as the lights came on.

"Don't think you'll get off that easy," said Hunter. Lara heard the sound of the door shutting followed by the sounds of a bottle being opened and a glass being filled.

"You think this is easy for me?" James fired back.

"Whether or not this is easy is irrelevant. What matters is how far you're willing to go to keep the truth buried. So, are you ready to try again?"

"The police won't let me off the leash again," muttered James.

"We have people who can make the police change their mind," replied Hunter. Lara heard someone, probably James, take a seat in one of the armchairs.

"What happens when I find her?"

"I don't think you ought to know that, Dr. Woodson." Hunter's voice was icy. The hairs on Lara's neck stood up.

"What happens?" James said hoarsely.

There was a long pause before Hunter spoke: "In the Praça do Comércio, Lara Croft showed an unfortunate sympathy for the cause of Ryan Caruso. That makes her a threat to Carlos. He wants that threat eliminated."

Lara couldn't help herself. "Who the bloody hell are you?" Lara half shouted as she stepped out from behind the screen. Both men's heads whipped around. James' mouth dropped open. Daniel Hunter smiled.

"Lara-," James began.

Lara cut him off. "What is he talking about? How do you even _know _him?"

"Go on, Dr. Woodson," Hunter smiled. "Explain yourself."

James just shook his head. "Lara, you shouldn't have come," he whispered.

"No?" Hunter asked. He continued to smile. "Then allow me to clear things up. Dr. Woodson and I met shortly after the murder of his fiancé, Evelyn Tanner."

James turned to look at Hunter, eyes wide, mouth open.

"Not so Dr. Woodson? Very well, let's call it _forced suicide. _Frankly, I don't see much distinction between the two terms but have it your way. You see Miss Croft, Evelyn Tanner had never shown more than a casual interest in Dr. Woodson despite his many entreaties. Her being so unattainable made him even more desirous to have her. And so he flexed his Oxford muscle and told her that if she didn't marry him she would be expelled from the university. Evelyn had little money, no connections; school was all she had. And so she played along. That is, she played along until the thought of being Mrs. Dr. James Woodson so repulsed her that she took a mega-dose of sleeping pills that killed her.

James was looking deeply into the bottom of his glass of vodka.

"James…is this true?" Lara whispered.

"I'm afraid so," Daniel Hunter said as he forced a frown. "But there's more. Evelyn Tanner wanted to make Dr. Woodson pay for extorting her love. She left one note behind in their flat detailing the good doctor's devious machination and sent a similar note to the dean at Oxford. The first note was destroyed by Dr. Woodson. The second note was intercepted by a very clever and supernaturally connected investigative journalist. And Dr. Woodson's secret was held in reserve against a time when the Shadow Kingdom would need his services."

"Is this true James?" Lara demanded. "Answer me!"

"He's deceived you this long. Why should he come clean now? But he doesn't have to tell you the truth. Examine the facts for yourself. Who put you onto the trail of the Idol? Who prompted you to go back for it? And how to explain that Carlos knew exactly where and when to find you and that I knew the right moment to call you and plant the seed of distrust?"

Lara's tomb raider mind assembled the puzzle pieces in an instant. "James, how could you?" she whispered.

"He sold you to the devil, Miss Croft. Doctor _Judas_ Woodson."

"You bastard!" James cried as he leapt from his chair. His hands clamped like claws on Hunter's neck. Both men fell to the floor. Hunter put his hands in James' face and pushed.

"Help! Help!" Hunter shouted hoarsely. Lara heard footsteps in the hall.

James looked up at Lara. "Jerusalem, Lara. He's in Jerusalem."

Lara felt as if she were very far away watching her body from some distant vantage point. Lara climbed through the window as if someone else were pulling her like a puppet. She heard the door open, men's voices, a scuffle. She climbed up to the roof and across the rope. She barely worried about the guards now. Only when Lara was a block away in a taxi headed heavens knew where did she begin to cry. She cried until she could taste the salt on her lips. She passed a sleeve over her reddened eyes and pulled a pre-paid phone from her jacket pocket. She dialed the only number on the phone and held it to her ear.

"Hello?" answered a man's voice. Calm. Gentle.

"Jerusalem. He's in Jerusalem."

* * *

**If you're new, ****please review. If you're not new, you too can review.**


	16. The Holy City

The rising sun cast little circles of light around the confines of the Nord 1402 Noirot seaplane. One of them alighted on Lara causing her to rouse from an uneasy half-sleep. In the seat across from her she could see Ryan peering out the window at the sparkling Mediterranean.

"Do you ever sleep?" Lara asked him. She had to half shout it to be heard above the Noirot's twin radial engines.

"Not anymore," Ryan said without turning away from the window. His face was as impassive as stone. When she had seen Ryan at the Cais do Sodré in Lisbon the night before Lara thought he looked happy to see her. Now any levity had faded from his face completely.

"How much longer?" Lara asked.

"We'll have to stop in Tunisia to refuel and file new flight plans. I know a spot where they won't ask questions." Ryan stretched his arms over his head and then resumed his vigil at the window. "I'm sorry about James," he said.

"Me too," Lara replied.

Ryan half turned to her. "Even the best of us lose our way sometimes."

Lara nodded. She wanted to say more but the hurt was still too fresh. She resorted to reassuring herself that she was doing the right thing—that she wasn't just running away from the painful reality of James' betrayal. Carlos Vicente, leader of the Shadow Kingdom, was at large and wanted her dead. Ryan wanted Carlos dead. Thus, in order to ensure her own survival, Lara needed to help Ryan kill Carlos. It was logical, but the logic did not comfort her.

* * *

The sun was on its descent by the time the plane landed by the harbor outside Ashdod, Israel. They were met at the harbor by a man about Thomas Woodson's age. His face was creased and his hair was white but his military bloodlines were still very apparent in his bearing.

He addressed himself to Lara first, "I'm Benjamin. You must be our informant."

"I'm Lara," she replied, shaking the weathered hand Benjamin offered.

When he saw Ryan, Benjamin said, "So you're Matteo's boy?"

"I am," Ryan replied as he shook Benjamin's hand.

"Your father and I worked north Africa for a time. He was a good man. I was so sorry to hear about your wife."

"Thank you." Ryan forced a thin smile and quickly changed the subject: "Have you been able to locate Carlos?"

Benjamin frowned and motioned for them to follow him to a nearby Land Rover. "Unfortunately, I haven't seen anything," Benjamin said. "I think he probably got here and went to ground before I knew to start looking. But I have an idea where he might be headed."

"Where?" Lara asked.

"We'll need to wait until we get to Jerusalem before I can answer that."

Almost an hour later they pulled up by a block of nondescript apartments across from the Blumfield Garden in the heart of Jerusalem. Benjamin led Ryan and Lara to a vacant apartment on the third floor. The apartment was very sparsely furnished. There was a table with a few chairs around it, a couple of camp cots against one wall, and an assortment of cases and crates stacked next to the table.

Once they were inside Benjamin locked the door, turned on some music—Lara guessed it was in order to prevent anyone from eavesdropping—and handed a newspaper to Ryan. The title read: Heads of State Convene for Hendley Signing. Ryan sat at the table and began reading out loud: "Security is ratcheting up in Jerusalem in preparation for the signing of the Hendley Peace Accords this Thursday. Heads of state from the United States, Iran, Israel and the Palestinian Authority will be in attendance."

"They're having the signing ceremony right on the Temple Mount between al'Aqsa and Dome of the Rock," said Benjamin. "It's a fine show really. The heads of state from the most influential Muslim, Christian, and Jewish nations meeting at the physical intersection of all three faiths to resolve their differences."

"It's a damn nightmare is what it is," gasped Ryan.

"What do you mean?" Lara asked.

"If Carlos can get the Idol close enough to the signing, the demons can possess all four heads of state at once," Benjamin responded.

"This is the same endgame the Shadow Kingdom originally had in mind only this time instead of the Portuguese empire it's America, Iran, Palestine, and Israel. Any one of those four being possessed might destabilize the region. All four of them together…that's a world war easy."

"Yes. The Idol now has the potential to be a spiritual weapon of mass destruction," commented Benjamin.

"But security is going to be insanely tight at the signing," Lara protested. "There's no way Carlos could get through to the head table."

"He doesn't have to go through them when he can go around them," Benjamin replied.

"What?" exclaimed Ryan.

Benjamin lifted a briefcase from the stack of crates, unlocked it, and pulled out a large map on an ancient piece of parchment. "During the Crusades the Knights dug a tunnel right up under the Mount to circumvent the Moorish defenses at the city walls," Benjamin gently traced the line on the map with his finger. "After they broke through they sealed the tunnel and booby trapped it so if they ever needed to use it again, the Knights—and only the Knights—could get through."

"But how does Carlos know about the tunnel?" asked Ryan.

"There were two maps of the tunnel made. David Hunter was in charge of one of the maps," Benjamin said simply. "He had a very different idea about how to end the war between the Templars and the Shadow Kingdom. I assume he gave it to them."

"David Hunter…Daniel Hunter is his son," said Lara as if to herself. Suddenly more pieces of the puzzle came together.

"He might have given it to Daniel," affirmed Benjamin. "Either way, it's almost certain that they know about the tunnel and they have at least a two day head start."

"And they know we're coming after them," said Ryan.

"That's where we might get a break," Benjamin offered. "There is one main tunnel, but there was a crosscut made here." He pointed to a line running perpendicular to the tunnel. "As a second means of egress in case of a cave-in. David's map was made before they dug the crosscut so it's a good bet Carlos doesn't know it exists. It's rigged with traps like the main tunnel but if we can get through them fast enough we might be able to cut Carlos off from the chamber under the Temple Mount."

"Why not just let the traps take care of Carlos for us?" offered Lara.

"It's too much of a risk," said Benjamin. "The traps are marked on the map. It doesn't say what they are but it says where they are."

"And the traps were designed to kill mortal men, not men who are playing host to demons."

A shiver went down Lara's spine at Ryan's last comment.

"Is Fisher bringing reinforcements?" Benjamin asked Ryan.

"If he does they won't get here in time. We've got to start tonight if we want to try to beat Carlos."

"Well, fortunately for you," Lara said, summoning her courage. "You have me to guide you safely through."

Ryan turned to her and, for the first time in days, she thought she saw him smile.

* * *

The rest of the night passed in a controlled blur of activity. Lara made two copies of the tunnel map—one written and one mental. Benjamin and Ryan unpacked several of the crates—IMI X95S Micro Tavor submachine guns, suppressed H&K USP Tactical pistols, plastic explosive, and light amplification gear. At half-past one in the morning, Benjamin retired to one of the camp cots for a cat nap. Ryan was stripping down each weapon, inspecting each part, and then reassembling them. Once Lara was convinced she knew as much about the tunnel as any non-knight of the crusades could, she sat at the table with Ryan and began loading magazines with 9mm bullets.

"How does it look?" Ryan asked her.

"I've seen better and I've seen worse," Lara sighed. "I won't know for sure until we get in there. Although it will be nice to have someone watching my back while I pick my way through traps for a change."

Ryan nodded and began testing out the night vision sights on the X95Ss Picatinny rail. "Do you ever get tired of going it alone?" he asked softly.

Lara was suddenly much more aware of her heartbeat than she had been. "I feel as though I've been alone ever since my parents died," she admitted. "I've always had Winston and he's great but…it's not the same. I don't need someone to take care of me. I need someone…"

"To love you," Ryan finished the thought. His steel blue eyes met hers.

"Yes," Lara whispered.

Ryan leaned forward and placed the hint of a kiss on her cheek. "You deserve to be loved." Without another word he stood and retreated to the other camp cot. He laid down and closed his eyes but Lara had seen enough of Ryan to know he wasn't asleep. _God, how lucky I would be to actually find love! _thought Lara. _But love will have to wait. Now is the time for justice and death._

Lara leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. She would need her strength for the tests ahead.

**[I really appreciate your feedback. -Em]**


	17. A Shot in the Dark Part I

It was a quarter to four in the morning when Lara, Ryan, and Benjamin pulled off the Derech Jericho into the southeastern slope of the Jerusalem Cemetery. Through the Land Rover's tinted windows Lara could see thousands of stone boxes outlined by the glow of street lamps. Centuries of the dead sprawled out over the side of the Mount of Olives. From the map Lara had memorized she knew one of those stone boxes was hiding the entrance to the tunnel that would take them right under the Temple Mount.

"Is this close enough?" Benjamin asked Lara.

She checked her copy of the map. "This is probably as close as we can get. We'll go the rest of the way on foot."

"Right," Benjamin said as he parked the Land Rover on the side of the road. While Lara and Ryan pulled heavy duffels out of the back, Benjamin quietly affixed new license plates to the car. In silence the trio set out, weaving their way through the rows of miniature tombs. Their breath left small clouds in the frosty night air. Lara guided them to the approximate location of the entrance and began to search. It was difficult in the darkness but Lara didn't dare use a flashlight. The second entrance—the one being used by Carlos Vicente—was less than a kilometer away to the north and lights might attract some hostile company.

"What are we looking for?" whispered Ryan.

"Any kind of inscription or marking," replied Lara. "There might be a Templar cross or an ideogram for entrance."

Ryan and Benjamin nodded. They fanned out across the area, heads bent low to the ground. After thirty minutes Lara was beginning to lose patience. Normally she could do this kind of thing in broad daylight with a small army of graduate students as backup. This was nigh impossible. She checked her map again, wondering if maybe she had missed something in the process of copying, then she looked around to reorient herself. _There you are!_ _Thank God for Templar traditions._ Lara smiled to herself. At the base of one of the tombs were the letters: C. Lara waved for Ryan and Benjamin to join her.

"I've found it," Lara said pointing to the inscription.

"Are you sure?" asked Ryan. "Because we won't be able to do this more than once."

"I'm sure."

Ryan nodded and pulled a spool of detonating cord from his duffel. He wound the cord around the base of the lid, tied it off and attached a blasting cap. Once this was done he and the others retreated a few meters. Benjamin pulled a pickax from his duffel and nodded to Ryan. There was a loud thud like the sound of a large stone being dropped as Ryan detonated the cord. The three of them rushed forward and grabbed ahold of the lid. With a few loud metallic strikes—much too loud for Lara's taste—Benjamin wedged the pickax in the crease made by the detcord. With a concerted heave, they dislodged the lid. Lara couldn't see anything inside. She stuck her arm in—nothing but air. She picked up a stone and tossed it in. One…Two…_crack_.

"This is it," she whispered.

"Good, because I think we might have woken the neighbors," said Ryan. In the neighborhood across the Derech Jericho a few lights had appeared in the windows.

"We better get down there quick," Benjamin replied. He tied a length of rope around a neighboring tomb and tossed the rest down the hole. Ryan shouldered his duffel and went down first followed by Lara and Benjamin. As soon as they hit the ground they began donning their gear—tactical vests, backpacks, infrared headgear, Micro Tavors, and sidearms. Lara put on her infrared goggles and used the infrared light on her submachine gun to take a look around. The tunnel was little more than two meters tall and one meter wide. They would have to walk single file most of the way.

"Lara, you'll take point," Ryan said as he squeezed past her. "We're right behind you." Lara noted with some curiosity that Ryan had a short katana strapped to his back. She wondered what purpose that could serve but decided to hold questions for later.

"I hope not _right _behind me," Lara quipped. "If I have to stop suddenly I'd rather not have you blundering into me."

"Right. Lead the way tomb raider," Ryan chuckled. Lara was glad of that sound in this dire hour.

They started off in single file down the tunnel. After a few meters it began to descend. The air was cool and damp. Lara started to sweat a little under the weight of her weaponry and ammunition. She normally preferred to travel lighter—it allowed her greater mobility—but she recognized that this was no normal raid. At the end there was not going to be a prize to recover, just lots of zealots with guns.

"How much farther till the first trap?" Ryan asked.

"Sixty paces," responded Lara.

"What do you think it will be?"

"Since we're dealing with crusading knights, I'm betting on something basic. They wouldn't have the time or expertise to set up something elaborate like the Egyptians would have done. Plus it has to be something that can be easily bypassed by someone who knows about it. We're probably going to be seeing a lot of deadfalls, pits and trip wires."

The tunnel began to bend ever so slightly to the north. Lara held up her hand for the two men to stop. She bent down and flashed her light over the floor. "False floor," she said. Without waiting she took a running start and jumped over. Given the height of the tunnel, Lara had to duck her head and tuck her legs to make it. Once on the other side she backtracked as far as she safely could. "You need to make it at least this far. Don't forget to duck."

Ryan and Benjamin both cleared the gap easily. "Three more to go," Benjamin huffed. Lara couldn't help but feel this was going to be easy. At the site of the next trap, however, her optimism was crushed. She stopped and scanned the floor, the ceiling, and the walls. She checked her map and checked the area again.

"What's wrong?" Ryan asked.

"There's nothing here," muttered Lara.

"What do you mean?"

"Just that. There's nothing. No trip wire, no false floor, no holes. Nothing."

"Maybe you made a mistake," Ryan offered.

"I don't make mistakes with things like this. Not with your life at stake," Lara snapped.

Her words hung in the damp air for a moment before Benjamin dared speak: "Maybe the map was wrong."

"Or maybe the trap fell apart," Ryan said. "It's been centuries since these things were made."

"No. The trap should be here and it's not. And there's no evidence that there ever _was _a trap here. This is all very wrong," whispered Lara.

"We've got to move, Lara," said Ryan. "We're behind Carlos as it is."

Lara nodded. "Here goes then." She stepped forward. Nothing. She took another step. Still nothing. Another step. Her stomach started to churn. _This is all very wrong. _

Suddenly she heard the sound of stone grating on stone in front of her. A stone block was slowly covering the passage ahead. "Run for it!" Lara shouted.

Lara sprinted ahead and dove under the door. She did a cat roll and came up to her feet facing back down the way she had come. Ryan and Benjamin weren't going to make it. Lara wedged her Micro Tavor under the door to keep it open. Ryan crawled under. The sub-machine gun began to groan under weight it was never meant to support. Benjamin started under but he was not as spry as Lara and Ryan. "Grab his arms!" ordered Ryan. They took hold of Benjamin's hands and yanked him through as the gun collapsed. The stone door finished its descent, sealing them in.

"Are you alright?" Ryan said between gasps.

"I'm fine," Lara replied. She could feel her heartbeat in her ears. "Are _you _alright?"

Ryan nodded and dusted himself off. "I'm fine too," said Benjamin.

"How come you didn't see that coming?" Ryan asked.

"It was well concealed. I underestimated their skill level. I won't make that mistake again," Lara replied. She tried to sound self-assured but truth be told that last trap had shaken her. It was more than well concealed. It had been nearly invisible.

The tunnel ahead began to slope down sharply. The trio followed it, this time more cautiously. After almost ten minutes of slow going, they arrived at the next trap. At least Lara assumed it was the trap. The tunnel in front of them was flooded. "This would certainly have stalled an enemy advance," Ryan noted. "Not many Moors would have known how to swim and they wouldn't have been able to take torches with them."

"Fortunately, I'm not a Moor," Lara said as she stripped off her tactical vest, camo jacket and pants. From her pack she pulled a few chem lights and cracked them. Lara stepped into the dark water and shuddered. "Unfortunately, I'm not a polar bear either."

"Take this," Ryan offered her the end of some rope. "So you don't get lost." Lara nodded and plunged into the water. The shock almost forced the air out of her. She forged ahead with one hand clutching the chem lights and the other the end of the rope. After a few meters the roof of the tunnel came down to the surface of the water. Lara took several deep breaths, blew the last one out as much as she could, took in a great gulp of air, and dove in. She kicked her legs hard and swam ahead. She had been swimming for almost twenty seconds and there was no sign of the tunnel sloping up again. She tried to surface and only met hard rock. She dropped the chem lights and went back the way she had come. Her lungs were about to burst when she broke through the water.

"How is it?" Ryan asked.

"I c-couldn't get through," Lara mumbled. "Th-the distance is t-too great."

"There must be some way, some trick to it," said Benjamin. "They had to have a way to get back through if they wanted to."

"I'll go this time," said Ryan.

"N-no," chattered Lara. "I'm already w-wet. I'll n-need someone dry to heat m-me up when I get b-back." With numb fingers Lara grabbed more chem lights and cracked them.

"We can get you back faster with the rope," offered Benjamin. "Just tug twice and we'll pull you back out. That should give you more time to look around."

Lara took a deep breath and dove back into the water. She swam back to where she had previously dropped her chem lights and began to search for clues. Five seconds passed. Nothing. Ten seconds. Nothing. Lara began to panic. The passage behind them was sealed now. If she couldn't find the way through they wouldn't be able to escape much less stop Carlos. Twenty seconds. Lara had been underwater for almost a minute.

Then she saw it.

She grabbed the rope and tugged twice. It took five endless seconds for her to break the surface. She came up gasping and spluttering. "Found it."

"What is it?" Ryan said as he helped her up out of the water.

"There's a p-pressure switch and d-drain," Lara mumbled.

Ryan couldn't really see her in the darkness but he could tell Lara was close to hypothermia if not there already. He pulled Lara close to him and rubbed her arms with his hands. She molded herself to Ryan's body as if he were the last warm thing in the world.

"Let me go in," he whispered in her ear.

Lara nuzzled her face into his chest and said: "You d-don't know where it is."

"You could tell me where it is."

"Shh. Just h-hold me." Ryan obeyed. He alternated between passing his arms over her shoulders and arms and rubbing her back. And after a while he just held her. He held her never minding that they were trapped deep underground. Never minding that if they got through they would be fighting for their lives against a demon-man and his heavily-armed followers. In that moment there were just the two of them. And that was all that mattered.

"I hate to be the one to rush you but we're running behind," said Benjamin. As he spoke those words the spell was broken. Lara reluctantly detached herself from Ryan and turned back to the water. She set her jaw and put her mental armor back in place. The time for happiness was past. Now was the time for dangerous work to be done. She pulled out the last of the chem lights and cracked them. With a gulp of air Lara dove under the water. She found the pressure switch marked with a Templar cross and dug into it with her boots. The water slowly began to drain. The exertion of holding down the pressure switch was sucking the oxygen from her lungs. Lara struggled to keep the switch down but she was so very cold and tired…

* * *

When she awoke she was lying on the floor of the tunnel. Ryan and Benjamin were both standing over her. "You've got hypothermia," Ryan said. "We need warm you up and get you into some dry clothes."

Lara nodded. "I've got some silk pajamas." She knew that was silly but at the same time it seemed the right thing to say. In the back of her mind she knew that that just confirmed she had hypothermia. Even her brain was sluggish.

Ryan pulled off her wet tank top and her spandex tights and then handed his own vest, jacket, and shirt to Benjamin. He pulled Lara up against his chest bringing their skin together. "Oh dear, what's my mother going to say?" Lara murmured.

"We've got one more obstacle. Can you do it?" Ryan asked.

"Why not?" she whispered. Lara could feel heat in her body again. And with it her brain began to come back online. Slowly, their immediate situation became more clear. She was in the dark in her underwear being held next to a man's bare chest. Her first thought was how awkward this should be. But it didn't feel awkward. It felt right.

After a few minutes Ryan put his hand on Lara's abdomen. "You've got some heat back. Let's get dressed and once we start moving you should get through the worst of it." He helped her put on the camo jacket and pants she had taken off earlier. The dry clothes brought instant relief but they lacked the comfort Ryan's chest and arms supplied. Once Ryan was clothed they moved out.

Now the tunnel before them began to slope upward. Lara estimated that they were under the Derech HaShilohah, less than a fourth of a kilometer from the Temple Mount. The next trap was close. She checked her watch. It was 5:50. Less than six hours until the signing of the Hendley Peace Accords. The dignitaries would be arriving in less than five hours she figured.

After about fifty meters Lara met something surprising. "Ryan I need some light," she said. Ryan handed her his Micro Tavor and she shined its infrared light over the ceiling. There was a vertical shaft a about a meter in front of them. Lara carefully inched her way forward so that she could see up inside. At the top, about two meters from Lara's head, was a rack set with dozens of sharpened metal spikes. At the edges she could see rope and tackle set so that it looked like the spikes and rack could drop if something was triggered. She scanned the floor and the walls. Nothing.

"What is it?" Ryan asked.

"It's a trap but it's not marked on the map."

"The map hasn't been wrong yet," said Benjamin.

"That's what worries me," responded Lara. She sighed and pulled a magazine from her vest. She lobbed it down the tunnel right through the expected danger zone. Nothing was triggered. _Of course not,_ Lara chided herself. _They haven't been stupid thus far. The sensor would need human weight. _Lara put one foot forward and tested the ground. Nothing was triggered. "I'm going to make a run for it." Lara stepped back and sprinted under the spike rack. Nothing happened.

"Maybe it's broken?" wondered Benjamin.

"No. Everything in here works," Lara replied. "We assume anything else and we end up dead. Now come on then. We've got to keep moving." Ryan sprinted across followed by a somewhat reluctant Benjamin. Nothing happened. They moved on but Lara couldn't help but feel that they were on borrowed time. The trap behind them bothered her. It was her tomb raider intuition acting up. And Lara had learned to trust it.

Fifty meters on Lara met with another surprise. There was a horizontal shaft cutting off to the left at a diagonal. Lara shined her light down it. It appeared to be heading straight to the Temple Mount. Again it was not marked on the map.

"Which tunnel do we take?" asked Ryan.

"Maybe we should split up," offered Benjamin.

"No," Lara replied. "We go follow the map, straight ahead." She marched ahead scanning each centimeter of the tunnel walls, floor, and ceiling. They were almost to the next marked trap. Her instincts were screaming at her. _This is all wrong._

Then she heard it.

The creaking of metal, the whining sound of rope being drawn through tackle. But it was coming from in front of them. "Go back!" Lara shouted. Ryan and Benjamin turned and ran. Out of the corner of her eye Lara saw the glint of metal spikes approaching fast as she turned to follow. She wondered if this set of spikes would make it all the way to the stone door and pin them there. _No, it doesn't have to. _Lara's mind assembled the puzzle just as they passed the diagonal shaft. "Back here!"

She dove into the side shaft. Another body landed next to her. A second later she heard the spike rack whistle past followed by the sounds of metal clanging and a wet crunch. Lara's heart leapt into her throat.

"Ryan? Is that you?" Her voice caught a little.

"Yes. I'm here."

"Benjamin?" No answer. Ryan jumped to his feet and ran down the tunnel. Lara lay there, her body still processing the terror-induced adrenaline surge and now, the rush of relief tainted with guilt. Ryan came back a minute later. He was carrying two Micro Tavors. One was stained with blood.

"Oh God," Lara whispered.

"It's not your fault," Ryan said as if reading her mind. They stood in silence for a while. Lara clenched and unclenched her fists. _How could I have been so stupid? Why didn't I see this coming? _she remonstrated herself. As angry as she was at herself for not saving Benjamin she was glad it hadn't been Ryan. But being glad just made her feel even more guilty. Ryan passed his sleeve over the body of the weapon to wipe off as much blood as he could. He handed his sub machine gun to Lara and kept Benjamin's for himself. Without a word the two headed back into the main tunnel and continued their ascent. Ten more minutes passed before they reached a dead end.

Lara groaned inwardly. As much as she tried to keep them engaged elsewhere, Lara's thoughts were on the graveyard of her mind. Had a new headstone been added needlessly because of her decision to follow the map?

"So it was the other tunnel we were supposed to take," Ryan sighed. Lara wondered if he had come to the same conclusion she had. She passed her light over the walls in the hope of finding something. Nothing.

But no. There was something. It was tiny, barely visible on the rock face but there was something. A small indentation…

"Ryan, please tell me you still have that crucifix your mother gave you."

"I do," Ryan reached inside his shirt and pulled it out. Lara took it from him and placed it in the indentation. It fit perfectly. The rock around the indentation shuddered and groaned. A small doorway appeared. Lara pushed against the rock and it opened.

"This is it," Lara whispered. Ryan shouldered his Micro Tavor and came up in front of Lara.

"Whatever happens to me," he said solemnly. "Promise me you'll keep going."

"What are you talking about?"

"Just promise me."

"I promise," Lara said slowly as she shouldered her own weapon. Ryan nodded, turned, and led the way into the main tunnel, the path that would take him either to absolution or death.


	18. A Shot in the Dark Part II

The main tunnel was wider and taller than the intersecting crosscut through which Lara and Ryan had traveled. Lara swept her infrared light up and down the tunnel. About fifty meters down from them two men were seated behind a low wall of sandbags. They were looking in the opposite direction. _So Benjamin was right_. Carlos didn't know about the crosscut.

Lara turned to signal to Ryan about the guards but he had already seen them. He dropped to one knee, aimed the Micro Tavor and fired two bursts of three rounds each. The suppressor limited the sound to mere _pffft-pffft-pffft._ Ryan picked up the six spent 9mm cases and advanced in a careful half-crouching run towards the position of the dead guards. Lara turned to face up the tunnel in the event that reinforcements were headed down. A few moments later and Ryan was at her side. He was carrying an H&K G3A4 assault rifle and a radio.

"Hold this," he whispered and handed her the radio. "Let me know if they do a check-in."

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to lay a little trap for the trappers." Ryan pulled the detcord from his pack and headed back down to the sandbag emplacement. He was only gone for a minute according to Lara's watch but it seemed so much longer to her mental clock.

"Get ready to fall back to the crosscut," said Ryan.

"Are you sure it's wise to use explosives down here?" Lara whispered.

"Don't worry, I know my stuff. It's just enough to get them off balance. Now move." He fired several bursts from the G3 down the tunnel and then followed Lara into their hiding place. The radio traffic picked up immediately.

"Who's firing?! What the hell is going on!" Ryan smiled as he listened. Lara could tell why. Their voices betrayed anxiousness and the immediacy of their radio traffic betrayed a lack of discipline. Whoever was down here they weren't professionals. They were just pretenders with guns. _But pretenders with guns are still deadly, _Lara reminded herself.

"Everybody check in!" an authoritative voice finally demanded. The check-in was far from orderly with a few groups having to call in two or three times after being cut off by others. Lara counted six groups.

"Pires, check in…Pires, check in!"

"How the hell did they get past us?" another voice shouted.

"Never mind that. Wilson, Oswaldo, get down to Pires' position. Tavares double back and we'll catch them in the middle."

"Or shoot each other dead more like it," Lara whispered. Ryan gave a little snort. It took two minutes for the men to come to the position.

The radio came to life shortly thereafter. "Pires is dead. Alexandre too."

The authoritative voice on the other end swore. "Tavares you didn't see _anything_?"

"Nothing. This man has to be a damn ghost."

"He's not a ghost dammit! There is no such thing!"

"Let's change his mind," Ryan smiled. He detonated the detcord. Lara followed him back into the main tunnel. One of the men had been thrown clear of the blast. Ryan dispatched him with two shots. He then fired off a few more bursts with the G3. "That should leave them wondering."

Lara heard footsteps behind them. "They're in the tunnel! Seal it! Seal it!" The man in charge had sent an additional guard unannounced. _Perhaps they're not pretenders after all. _The guard dropped his radio and brought up his rifle. Lara dropped to one knee and fired a burst up through his abdomen.

_Boom!_ Lara heard the sound of explosives being detonated just before she felt the compression shockwave knock the air out of her. She struggled to breathe and then came another sound that poured adrenaline into her blood. Falling rock.

"The tunnel's collapsing. Run!" shouted Ryan. He grabbed Lara's arm and yanked her to her feet. They sprinted ahead. The falling rock was so close behind Lara could feel the dust in her mouth. After a few seconds it was over.

"Ryan?" Lara coughed.

"Yeah, I made it," Ryan sputtered. "That sounded pretty big. I think my trap might have weakened part of the tunnel."

Lara waved her light over the rock fall behind them. It was hard to make out with all of the dust but the rock appeared to go all the way up to the ceiling. And judging by how far they'd run Lara figured there was no way they were digging their way out any time soon.

"We're trapped down here," Lara said flatly.

"I was afraid of that," Ryan replied. "I shouldn't have let you come."

"And who was going to get you through the traps?"

Ryan fumbled in the darkness and took hold of her hands. "That's just it. Neither of us had to come. We could have run away. We could have found some place to escape from it all."

"And let the demons control the world?" Lara whispered.

"That wouldn't matter, as long as we were together."

Lara squeezed his hands. "But we're together now. And that's enough." She leaned towards him. In the darkness she could tell that he was doing the same.

"They made it through!" shouted a voice. Shots rang out in the dark confines of the tunnel. Lara felt a searing heat in her neck and another in her abdomen. Ryan cried out. Reflexes born from many hours under Lott's tutelage kicked in. Lara brought up her Tavor and fired bursts in the direction of the attackers' muzzle flashes. Ryan had done the same. Lara felt another bullet graze her leg. She kept firing until all the flashes had stopped.

Lara's ears were ringing. The smell of powder hung thick in the air. Ryan was coughing next to her. "Lara?"

"Ryan, are you hurt?"

"I think it went clean through my shoulder."

Lara pulled out the medic's kit and placed it by him. "We've got to move quickly. There are sure to be more on their way."

"Lots more," Ryan replied. "Lara! You're hurt!"

Lara had been so worried for him she'd forgotten her own injuries. "I'll bandage you up and you do me. Deal?"

"Sounds like a plan," Ryan chuckled and then groaned. "Let's do you first. Yours are more serious." Lara sat down and Ryan knelt next to her. He gave Lara a shot of morphine and then applied a hemostatic dressing to her neck. He checked her abdomen. "I don't feel an exit wound," he said softly. "I don't think I can get the bullet out. Not in time."

"So patch me up and let's go," Lara ordered.

"If you move the bullet might shift. It's damn close to your liver as it is."

"You're not leaving me here," Lara growled.

Ryan undid his vest and jacket and applied a dressing to his shoulder. "I'm not going to risk losing you."

"Ryan, there's little chance of any of us getting out of here."

"A small chance is enough for me." Ryan set the medic's kit in her lap, shouldered his Tavor, and set off up the tunnel.

* * *

**I apologize for the short chapter but this was the natural place to break it. -Em.**


	19. Absolution

"Ryan!" Lara yelled. "Damn you!"

She reached into the kit and pulled out a pair of forceps. She carefully inserted them into the bullet hole to probe for the bullet. The morphine had kicked in but it was still very uncomfortable. Up the tunnel Lara heard the throaty chatter of G3s on full auto.

"Dammit!" Lara pulled the forceps back out. It was no good. Without light and some way of seeing what she was doing there was no way of safely removing the bullet. She was already losing blood and risking infection as it was. Lara rubbed down the entry wound with antiseptic and applied a hemostatic dressing. She repeated the procedure for her leg.

"Let's make a fine end to this whole mess," Lara groaned as she gingerly got to her feet. She heard more G3 bursts, this time farther away. _I'm coming Ryan. If nothing else we'll be together in the end._ Lara shoved a fresh magazine into her Tavor and moved up the tunnel at a half-limp, half-run. After about 100 meters she found three men dead. None of them were Ryan. Lara heaved a sigh of relief and kept limping ahead. After another 100 meters the tunnel opened up into a large chamber about ten meters wide and fifteen tall. Several dead bodies lay on the floor, illuminated by the glow from dozens of torches set in brackets along the walls. In the center there was a tower of old scaffolding leading upward. Parts of it had been recently reinforced with new rope or replaced altogether with aluminum ladders.

Lara started to ascend the tower. Her leg and side were throbbing. She pushed it out of her mind and kept going. Lara was half-way up when she saw someone coming down. She grabbed her Tavor and took aim…

"Ryan?" Lara whispered.

"Lara, I told you stay put," he said through gritted teeth. "Why did you come?"

"Why? I-I—what are you doing? Did you find Carlos?"

"Get out of here, now!" Ryan growled. He was almost down to Lara's level.

"Ryan, what's going on?" Lara demanded. Then she saw that he was carrying his katana unsheathed. His jaw was clenched, his eyes were no longer steel blue but rather a shade approaching black.

"Go, damn you!" Ryan spat. He swung at Lara with the naked blade. Lara stumbled backward and the sword stroke narrowly missed her neck. Ryan swung again, this time straight down. As Lara dodged to the left one of the old scaffolding planks gave way and she tumbled down to the next level. The force of landing knocked the Tavor out of her hands. Her side was pounding now. Ryan began to climb down.

"If you don't leave, I'm going to have to kill you Lara." Ryan sounded detached and cold now. His face and tone of voice didn't match at all with the words he was speaking. It didn't match _him. _Lara felt like someone had poured a bucket of ice water all over her.

"Ryan, you don't want to do this," Lara insisted. "This is not you." Ryan landed on her platform, sword in hand. Lara shambled backward. Ryan struck again. Lara cried out involuntarily as the tip of the blade sliced her left arm.

"Of course this isn't me," Ryan grated. "What are you going to do about it? Kill me?"

"I'll think of something." Lara jumped backward and, grabbing hold of the platform edge, swung down to the next level. Ryan started to climb down. As soon as he was on the ladder Lara heaved at the base and toppled him. He landed, rolled and was back on his feet. He aimed a stroke at one of the ropes supporting the planks below Lara. The whole platform gave way dropping Lara and Ryan onto the chamber floor. Lara coughed and clutched her side. She could feel fresh blood soaking her shirt and jacket. Ryan slowly got to his feet. He fished through the wreckage of the platform for his katana. Lara rolled onto her knees and then crawled for the nearest scaffolding pillar. She pulled herself to her feet. Ryan pulled the katana from under a mess of boards and started toward her. Lara's right hand automatically dropped to her hip. It found the reassuring grip of the H&K USP Tactical. _Has it come to that? _Lara wondered. _How else do I stop him? _

Suddenly the contents of an old leather-bound tome that reeked of musty air and relentless decomposition leaped into her mind. It seemed like ages ago that Ryan had showed it to her—the Rules of Demonry.

Lara knew what she had to do.

Lara picked up one of the broken boards and held it out in front of her like a shield. Now it was all in the timing. She couldn't go toe to toe with Ryan, not in her current state. Ryan aimed a left-to-right cross-body stroke at Lara. She parried with the board. Ryan struck again with a high diagonal cut. Lara blocked and then sidestepped in an effort to get around Ryan but her leg gave way and she stumbled, landing heavily on her back. _This is it, _thought Lara. Ryan brought the katana behind his back and then brought it straight down in an executioner stroke. _Now! _

Just as the blade came to her head Lara shoved the board up and forward into the stroke. The katana—designed for slicing not chopping—stuck into the board. Lara rolled to her knees and then half-hobbled to the nearest scaffolding pillar. Summoning all that remained of her gymnast's body, Lara began to climb. Ryan put his foot to the board in an effort to dislodge the blade. The middle platform was almost in Lara's grasp. She reached for it but blood from the cut on her arm had slicked her hand and she couldn't hold on. Seeing this, Ryan left the katana and started to search the floor for where Lara's Tavor had fallen. Lara stepped out onto a broken crossbeam that was barely jutting out from the pillar in an effort to get closer to the platform. She reached out with her good arm and caught hold of the nearest board. Just then the crossbeam gave way and Lara was left dangling.

"There you are!" exclaimed Ryan. From under a jumble of boards and rope Ryan pulled the Micro Tavor. He shouldered the weapon, aimed at Lara, and squeezed the trigger.

_Ka-Chick._ _Ka-Chick. _"Come on you piece of-." Ryan swore. He tore at the magazine and the action to try to unjam the weapon.

Lara took a deep breath and performed one of the most difficult pull-ups of her life. Lara clawed her way onto the platform and collapsed onto her back, her chest heaving with exertion. She heard Ryan reload the magazine and this time the action came back cleanly. _Time to move. _Lara willed her body into an upright position and she started on the ladder as 9mm bullets slammed into the platform below her. One penetrated the wood and hit the small toes of her right foot. Lara gritted her teeth and kept ascending until she was at the platform below where she assumed Carlos was projecting his demon. She heard Ryan moving around below her, trying to get a better shot but given the dimensions of the chamber, there was none. Lara drew her USP Tactical and climbed up the last ladder.

Carlos was kneeling in the middle of the topmost platform. His eyes were closed. His face was contorted and sweat poured down his cheeks and nose. The Idol sat by his side. Lara took aim and Carlos' eyes shot open.

"Lara! Watch out! He's released me!" Ryan shouted from down below. Lara squeezed off one round that hit Carlos' forehead. She knew it wouldn't kill him but it was cathartic.

"_Turn around," _Lara heard a voice inside her head say. She turned around.

"_Go down the ladder," _the voice ordered. Lara went to the ladder and started down.

"_Kill Ryan Caruso," _the voice commanded.

_No. _Another voice countered. _I won't do that. _

"_Kill Ryan Caruso," _the voice insisted.

_I don't want to. _

"_Kill him!" _the voice looked down. Ryan had reached the first platform. She took aim with her pistol. _No. No. No. _Lara fired. The bullet grazed Ryan's head. He staggered for a bit, looked up at her, and then started on the next ladder. Lara fired again. This bullet hit him in the calf. Ryan cried out and struggled up the ladder.

"_Kill him!"_

_No. I can't. I love him. _

Ryan made it to Lara's platform. His face was bathed in sweat and blood. Lara could feel the muscles in her arm and hand convulsing. It felt like someone was trying to push her arm upward and she was trying to keep it by her side. Ryan hobbled to the final ladder. "Lara, whatever happens to me, you'll keep going. You promised me."

"_Don't promise him _anything_. Kill him you fool!"_

"I promise," Lara forced the words through clenched teeth.

Ryan started up the ladder. Just as he disappeared out of sight Lara felt her arm relax and the voice leave.

"Lara help!" Ryan pleaded.

Lara climbed the ladder as quickly as her wounded body would allow. Her side was on fire now. The bullet had probably done its final damage. _If this is to be my end, I will make it a worthy end._

The sight that met Lara's eyes at the top of the ladder was a ghastly tableau vivant—a motionless, Herculean struggle of good against evil. Ryan stood, sword in hand, looking straight at Carlos. His arms were tensed like he was trying to crush the hilt. His lips were pulled back over gritted teeth in a feral snarl. Carlos knelt, eyes screwed shut, face twisted into a gargoyle's grimace with the hint of his shark-like smile at the corners of his mouth.

Lara clambered up the remaining ladder rungs. She rested on one knee, panting, before she raised her pistol and fired three shots straight into Carlos' chest. Ryan was released. He pulled back on the sword and sliced Carlos' head clean off. In one motion, so concerted as to appear rehearsed, the freshly decapitated Carlos' slumped over, Ryan sank to his knees, and Lara collapsed.

"It's over," Lara gasped. She turned her head to look at Ryan. He was muttering something in Latin that she couldn't quite make out. "Ryan what—." A dark cloud began to emanate from Carlos' headless body. It covered Ryan. His body began to convulse. He fell on his face—his mouth open, forming soundless words.

"Ryan!" Lara screamed. She crawled over to him. His writhing became more violent. He was on his back with hands outstretched one moment and the next he was on his face with arms and legs twitching and twisting. He howled like a wounded animal and then gasped like a fish trying to draw breath on dry land. Tears fell from eyes that appeared to see nothing.

"Ryan! What do I do? Tell me what to do!" Lara cried. Ryan continued to writhe. Lara grabbed her pistol and shot Carlos' body again and again. She fired two rounds into the head and sent it flying off the edge of the scaffold. She spent the rest of her magazine firing into the Idol to no avail. Ryan suddenly thrashed his legs sending Lara sprawling. She flipped over just in time to see Ryan draw his pistol and force it to his head.

"NO!" Lara lunged forward to grab the gun. She tipped the barrel as Ryan squeezed the trigger. Ryan's body relaxed. "No. No. No," Lara whispered. She put one hand over the wound but she knew it was too late. Her last second gambit had only delayed the inevitable. Ryan's eyes met hers. They were the same sad steel-blue eyes that she remembered.

"Natalie?" Ryan whispered. He extended one hand and touched Lara's cheek.

Tears flowed from Lara's eyes. "Yes, Ryan. It's me." She closed his hand in her own.

"I-I—," Ryan gargled. Blood from his wound was beginning to fill his throat.

"Shh," Lara whispered. "Rest now. We'll be together soon."

"I…love you. F-forgive me." Ryan let out a long exhale and then he was gone.

Lara didn't even have the strength to cry. She lied down next to Ryan and watched the torchlight dance over the ceiling. "We'll be together soon," Lara whispered. Just before everything faded to black Lara thought she heard voices in the tunnel below her.


	20. Healing

Spring had come to Croft Manor. The lawns were turning green, the Lombardy poplars were sending out the first vestiges of leaves, sparrows were darting in and out of the hedges. The sun was just beginning to glint off the third story windows when Winston shuffled into the kitchen and turned on the stove. He set the kettle on and then cracked a few eggs into a frying pan. He would be breakfasting alone…again. The last four months had been so terribly lonely.

After Lara returned from Israel she was gone from the house as much as she was there. And when she was there, she wasn't, well…_all_ there. First, she had undergone surgery to repair a partially lacerated liver and two toes on her right foot. Then there was the lengthy hospital stay to recuperate from a nasty infection she'd contracted from a wound on her arm. She had been interrogated extensively by the British MI6, the American CIA, and the Israeli Mossad. Each time she returned home, when she was permitted to return home, she was emotionally raw. She had received a thorough psychiatric re-evaluation by Dr. Conrad Montgomery. She had settled the criminal assault charges brought against her by the maid from the Victoria Thistle hotel. And she had watched, with great sadness, the investigation, trial, and sentencing of Dr. James Woodson.

Physically and legally Lara had been made whole. But Lara still harbored a wound inside of her that refused to heal.

It was a quarter past one when Lara finally emerged from her room. She padded down the stairs and into the kitchen. Light was filtering through the windows and playing on the black and white tile floor. "What would you like for luncheon?" Winston asked.

"Just some tea, thank you," Lara sighed. Winston pursed his lips and put the kettle on. Lara had dropped fifteen pounds since being discharged from the hospital. And there hadn't beenmuch to lose in the first place. After the kettle whistled Winston placed a cup of tea and a plate piled high with biscuits in front of Lara. Lara drank the tea and then headed back out into the main hall. The door bell chimed. Lara thought about telling Winston to get rid of whoever it was but then she thought better of it. She needed someone to unload on and she couldn't do it on poor old Winston. He had been a saint ever since she got home.

Lara unlocked the front door and headed out into the afternoon sun. The gravel drive crunched under her feet as she neared the wrought iron gate. A white-haired man in a gray three-piece pinstripe suit and wingtips stood outside. His bearing was rigid like a army private preparing to be dressed down by a drill sergeant. He didn't look like a reporter, the likes of which Lara was now all too familiar with. Lara's undifferentiated anger was temporarily overshadowed by curiosity.

"Can I help you?"

"Lady Croft. My name is Ian Fisher, I am a…was a colleague of Ryan Caruso."

Lara flinched ever so slightly at the mention of Ryan's name. "What do you want?"

"May I come in?"

Lara paused a moment. With a sigh she opened the gate and motioned for Fisher to follow her into the house. She led him to her study and offered him a seat in one of the leather armchairs her father had often used. "So what is this all about?"

"I'm here to execute a provision of Ryan's last will and testament," Fisher said. He pulled a small manila envelope from his jacket pocket and handed it to Lara. "He and I disagreed about many things, but as his superior I feel an obligation to fulfill his last wishes—especially in light of his sacrifice."

Lara opened the envelope and pulled out a single 3x5 index card. There were two sentences handwritten on it in black ink, one above the other:

Remember what you promised me.

I love you.

Lara flipped the card over and checked inside the envelope. "Is this all?"

"Should there be something more?" Fisher replied.

"No…I suppose not," Lara muttered as if to herself.

"Well, my work here is done. Please excuse me if I've been a nuisance."

"Not at all." Lara stared at the little card.

Fisher stood. Just before he came to the door he paused and said: "Thank you for helping Ryan. I shudder to think what would have happened to us if the Idol hadn't been recovered."

"Where is the Idol?" Lara asked.

Fisher smiled. "We've taken care of it." He gave a slight bow and then left.

Lara sat there for a long time. Tears came after a while. She let them flow. When her tear ducts had nothing left to give Lara wiped her eyes with her sleeve, put the index card in her pocket, and left the study. She descended the stairs and strode into the kitchen.

"Winston my dear, will you please call Paul and tell him to come to dinner?"

"Yes of course." A smile broke over Winston's face. Lara turned to leave. "Wait! What do I tell Mr. Murdock we're having for dinner?"

Lara smiled for the first time in four months. "Winston, fix everything we've got in the house. God I'm hungry!"


	21. Author's Note

I hope you've enjoyed Ghosts-my second (and probably last) work of fanfiction. It has been a work in progress for just over six years. In that time I've changed a lot and so has the Tomb Raider canon.

I want to give a hearty shout out to Atherex, IronHound, Dalarna, 3lanterns, Addicted Raider, and Cribellate (and all you others who reviewed the first iteration of Ghosts before I got tired of it and took it off the site) for their kind reviews which fueled my desire to write when it was flagging. And I want to give a very special thanks to OveractiveImaginer and mcknight93 for giving me the spark to finish this work which lay dormant for the better part of two years.

Last of all, thanks to those who created and maintain this site. It's been a great place for us to cut our teeth. Happy writing my friends, and God bless.

-Em


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